


Blackbird and Parsley

by A_Little_Boosh_Maid



Series: The World of Camden [1]
Category: Cinderella - All Media Types, The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: A Non-Christian Universe Isn't a Utopia, A Wizard Did It, Accidents, Alcohol Abuse, Alternate England, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Androgyny, Angst, Animal Transformations, Animals, Arranged Marriage, Artists, Astrology, Awkward Flirting, Bad Parenting, Bad Poetry, Banquets, Beautiful All Along, Castles, Cautionary Tales, Child Abuse, Child Labour, Child Neglect, Childhood, Circus, Corporal Punishment, Country Mouse in the City, Domestic Fluff, Fairy Tale Retellings, Families of Choice, First Kiss, First Meetings, Friendship, Gambling Addiction, Garden parties, Good witch, Goth Poetry, Grandmothers, Happy Ending, He Cleans Up Nicely, Heroic Blue Screen of Death, Horseback Riding, Horses, I Admit It's Kind of a Fix-It Fic for Cinderella, Implied Child Sexual Abuse or Child Prostitution, Lawyers, Love Triangles, M/M, Magic, Makeovers, Male Cinderella, Marriage Proposal, Meet the Family, Minor Character Death, Mysterious Strangers, No Bisexual Erasure, No Smut, Orphans, Pagan religion, Palaces, Parades, Parent-Child Relationship, Polyamory, Poverty, Prophecies, Ragamuffins from the Street, Riches to Rags, Romance, Royalty, Royalty-Typical Incest, Servants, Slight Deconstruction of Fairy Tale Princess Motif, Small Town Boy with Big Dreams, Suits You Sir, THE CRUNCH, Tangled Family Trees, Threesome, Trauma Conga Line, Voyeurism, Weddings, Wills, babies ever after, balls, blended families - Freeform, childhood crush, cooks - Freeform, cross-dressing, fairy godmother - Freeform, girl talk, implied sex, kissing cousins, valets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22620154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid
Summary: This story came to me in a dream, and only after I wrote the outline down did I realise it is a retelling of a popular fairy tale. Not content with that, dreams continued coming to me, showing me more and more about each chapter, and even sending a horror version to scare me into doing more writing. If nothing else, it's a tale which demanded to be told.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir, Vince Noir & Mrs Pelham (Mighty Boosh)
Series: The World of Camden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708798
Comments: 95
Kudos: 24





	1. Boy, Bird, and Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boy who has everything discovers he also has an unexpected gift, which leads to success in something else almost at once.

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away lived a little boy named Vince Noir, and he had everything that his heart could desire. He lived with his mother and father in a big house in the country, surrounded by a moat on which to sail an armada of toy ships, with a bridge over it leading to a garden to play in, and a farm that they owned. Vince's father didn't work the farm. He leased it to someone and made money from it that way.

Nearby was a forest where Vince learned to climb trees and swim in the river, and he made up a lot of games he could play by himself there. One day he might pretend he was a pirate captain and the tall tree he was in was his galleon. Another, he would be a jungle explorer hunting for tigers.

One morning, when Vince had just turned seven, he ran very fast to his mother, who was picking a basket of irises and white roses to put in vases around the house. He had run so fast that his face had gone pale rather than red, his blue eyes looked huge, and he was gasping for breath.

"Mama, Mama! I said hello to a blackbird in the hedge, and the blackbird looked at me, and it said hello back! It _spoke_ to me, Mama!". Vince flopped on the ground, unable to go on.

Vince's mother pressed her hands to her breast as she knelt beside him, saying in hushed delight, "Oh, how _precious_! And did the flowers talk to you as well, or the wind whisper a lovely secret?".

"Don't be silly, Mama", said Vince disdainfully. "I only talked with a blackbird, not to flowers or the wind".

"My darling boy has got such a beautiful imagination", said his adoring mother. "Come and kiss your Mamakins".

Vince dutifully kissed his mother, but he felt she had missed the point of his story, or didn't quite believe it. It was almost as if she thought this was something he was making up, but Vince knew the difference between a pretend game, like being a pirate or an explorer, and something real, like a blackbird talking to him. _Those_ were only in his mind, _this_ really happened.

He walked over to the paddock near the house, where his father was breaking in a new horse. Vince decided not to sound too excited this time, and instead told his father quite matter-of-factly about the bird speaking to him, and what a surprise it had been. He explained that Mama seemed to think he had imagined it, but it had really happened

"Vince, I won't tolerate liars", said his father sorrowfully. "A true gentleman never lies. If nobody can trust his word, he is worth nothing. Come here".

Vince came closer, not knowing what was coming next, but he soon discovered that _Come here_ meant he was going to get a riding crop switched hard against the back of his legs.

"I don't like to punish you, Vince, but it's my duty to teach you right from wrong, and it's wrong to tell lies", said Vince's father sternly. "Now go inside and stop crying. Gentlemen don't cry. That's for simple folk and silly girls".

Vince went into the kitchen where Mrs Pelham was preparing the midday dinner. She was the old woman who did the cooking and cleaning for them, and Vince was secretly a little frightened of her, because she was as wrinkled and brown as a walnut, and had sharp black eyes that seemed to miss nothing – they certainly never missed Vince if he ever tried to sneak a currant behind Mrs Pelham's back.

"Why the red eyes, laddie?", she asked, rolling out the pastry for a steak and kidney pie.

"I told Mama a blackbird talked to me, and she thought I was pretending, and then I told Papa, and he whipped me for being a liar", said Vince bitterly.

"And what other animals have you spoke to beside the wee merle?", asked Mrs Pelham.

"None", said Vince, sitting sulkily down on a kitchen stool.

"Well, you have the mark of one who knows the tongues of birds and beasts", said Mrs Pelham. "Try talking to more of them, and next time don't be such a fool and blab it to bigger fools".

Vince was shocked that Mrs Pelham had said his mother and father were fools, and didn't quite like it. But he quietly took her advice, and found that he could indeed talk to almost any animal. He began by talking to the farm animals, but apart from being rather dull, these conversations tended to take an embarrassing turn at some point when Vince either had to admit he'd eaten their relatives, or abruptly leave. The farm dog always said he was too busy to talk and mustn't let his guard down for an instant, and the farm cat made snide comments that Vince didn't entirely comprehend, but knew were not kind.

It was harder to get wild beasts to talk to him, but far more rewarding. There were many days that Vince learned to stay perfectly still in the forest, waiting for a rabbit or a squirrel to trust him sufficently to come near enough to talk, and in this way he gained a level of patience unusual in a child his age. When he did manage to get wild beasts to speak to him, they taught him many things about the forest, of its dangers and hardships, and the beauties of each season. Birds were easier – they tended to be friendly, liked to chat, and could give information from many miles away.

Vince especially liked to talk to the horses, and because of this ability, learned to ride on his first lesson, and very quickly was able to ride exceptionally well, which pleased his father a great deal. Vince's father said a true gentlemen knew to ride, like the knights of old, and knew the ways of horses inside and out. He bought Vince his first pony, a beautiful little dappled hobby that had been brought over from Ireland at great cost. The pony was called Finn, and Vince's father said he was named after a mighty hero.

On Finn, Vince learned to ride bareback as well as he did with a saddle and bridle, if not better. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of freedom, of flying like a bird, as Finn galloped around the green fields. If Vince felt that he was slipping, he whispered to Finn to slow down a little until he could right himself; once they began galloping, he let Finn know he needed to hold onto his neck, and not to be frightened of that. In turn, Finn was able to train Vince to remain supple and steady, to keep his balance, and to always move in time with the horse.

"Look at my boy", Vince's father said proudly to a group of his gentleman friends. "Can ride like the wind on that little hobby. He's like a centaur, can't tell where he ends and the horse begins".

One of his friends shied a stone at Finn to startle him. Finn reared up, and tore around the field in a panic, but Vince never lost his seat, and brought Finn to such a calm standstill that the pony put his head down and began eating grass.

"I told you, didn't I?", said Vince's father. "It's all done with kindness, too. He's never laid a finger on that horse".

"I'll pay up, fair and square", said the man who had thrown the stone. "Gold coin, wasn't it?".

Vince's father pocketed the coin as Vince slid down over Finn's shoulder onto the ground, then he laughed and slapped Vince's back.

"You've won me a coin, son", Vince's father said genially. "What would you have me buy you with it?".

"Nothing, Papa", said Vince without expression. "You've provided me with all my needs". He didn't understand exactly about the coin, but he knew his father was somehow to blame for the man throwing a stone at Finn. He'd certainly done nothing to stop him.

"Proper little gentleman, isn't he?", Vince's father said, rubbing his son's head. Vince led Finn away by the mane to groom and stable him without a backward glance.

Vince's father cared deeply about looking like a gentleman. He was always well-dressed, and insisted on Vince being perfectly turned out at all times. Vince was careful with his clothing, but should it get the smallest rip or tear, his father would tell him to throw the clothes away, because a true gentleman never wore anything patched or mended. Vince's mother liked dressing him up like a little doll in soft, colourful fabrics, brushing his golden hair until it shone.

"There. How handsome you look, darling", she said, standing back to admire her handiwork.

Vince's mother was a woman who was always smiling and laughing, and her singing was in the house from dawn to dusk, for she loved music. Her favourite thing was to dance around the big entrance hallway, twisting and turning to the notes that she hummed, holding out her hands in entreaty to her husband and son to join her.

"You are a ridiculous woman", said Vince's father teasingly as he danced with her, "and if you were any more empty-headed, I would have to throw you down the stairs". But he gazed at her with such a mixture of tenderness and hunger that Vince felt shy, until he was swept into the dance as well, and the three of them spun around so dizzily that they all fell in a heap, laughing and embracing each other.

Looking back, those were some of the happiest memories Vince had of his childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wee merle: (Scottish dialect) little blackbird
> 
> hobby: (archaic) a pony – short for hobbyhorse. Ireland has long been famous for breeding horses, and Vince's mount in our world is called a Connemara pony. They are often dapple grey in colour, and chosen for their athletic build and good disposition. Vince rides what we would consider a very expensive, top quality show pony.
> 
> Finn: Vince's pony is named after the Irish folk hero Finn MacCool. His name means "fair and handsome", suitable for a nice looking horse with a lightish coat. There's a slight joke, in that Finn MacCool is often depicted as a giant, while a pony is small.


	2. The Russian Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A local entertainment dazzles Vince, and inspires him to copy an equestrian act.

One afternoon a swallow spoke to Vince on its way to Africa for the winter, telling him that in the valley it had just passed, there was a show with wild beasts on a common near the market town. Vince asked his father if they could go, and to his surprise, his father said yes, he supposed it _was_ their duty to attend these village affairs, and be seen mixing with the common folk.

That evening, Vince's father called for the carriage, and Vince took a moment to quietly tell the horses they weren't going very far and were travelling a safe road before he hopped in to sit in the carriage, squeezed between his mother and father. He could have sat opposite them, but nobody likes to face the wrong way while travelling. In a moment, he heard the driver call out to the horses, and they began moving. Vince was glad not to hear the sound of a whip.

At the wild beast show, his father entered the canvas tent in his fine suit, smiling at the simple folk, and pressing a silver coin into the hand of the man who showed them the way. Their seats were right at the top, and were grand and comfortable, because Vince's father was a gentleman.

Vince's mother was a vision in her blue silk gown, her blonde hair curling around her shoulders, so that many people turned and stared at her as if an angel had come amongst them. Vince's father was proud of having such a beautiful wife, and his smiles grew broader at the attention she drew.

Vince leaned over the velvet barrier, sucking on a stick of rock, and being careful not to get any on his lilac suit trimmed with lace. He breathed in the smell of the sawdust, the scents of wild beasts. In later years, he could not remember most of the show. There were lions, an elephant, acrobats, a trapeze artist, and clowns, but whatever impact they had on Vince was forgotten when the horses began.

There were six tiny ponies from the Shetland Isles who galloped around the ring together like a pack of excited puppies. Their trainer ran beside them, leading them around a course of obstacles, and the crowd clapped and cheered. The smallest pony of all had been trained to make little mistakes so that people laughed, and then the ponies ran in a neat figure eight formation before trotting out of the ring, the little one half a step behind as if not quite able to keep up.

Then the bareback rider came on, and nothing else mattered. The rider was a girl of about fourteen, on a fine white Arab. Her black hair was cut short like a boy, and she wore a bright green kirtle halfway down her thighs, with a scarlet blouse underneath it, and a red sequinned hairband keeping her curls in place.

"Welcome The Amazing Sasha!", the ring master called in his rich, rippling voice. "Come from the steppes of Russia to give us a display of bareback riding".

Sasha rode around the ring twice, many of the crowd already impressed that she rode without saddle or bridle, although Vince didn't think this anything extraordinary. The second time she rode crouching over the horse's shoulders, and then suddenly she gave a little jump and she was riding the horse standing up, her bare feet steady on the horse's back.

Everyone clapped, and then gasped, as she took the horse over a series of small jumps, finally breaking through a big hoop filled with coloured paper to land safely again on the horse. Nobody could believe it when the ringmaster lit the hoop until it blazed into a ring of fire, and several voices called out that the act had to be stopped, it was too dangerous.

Sasha gave a brilliant smile through painted red lips, and jumped through the fiery hoop, then cheekily pretended to check her feet for burns, until the crowd laughed at their own fears. She got down on her shoulders, and swung herself up until she was doing a handstand on the horse's back as it continued cantering around the ring, her arms supporting her slender body, her short skirt falling down to display her strong thighs. It now became clear that the scarlet blouse was part of a one-piece costume, because the girl's nether parts were covered in red satin as well. Vince had never seen anyone wear so little clothing, and barely knew where to look.

There were shrieks and wolf-whistles as the rider did a back-flip, and landed on the horse on her feet. For her victory lap, she rode the horse with one slim leg stretched out behind like a dancer, her arms above her head in a graceful pose. As she rode past Vince she gave him a grin, then tossed him her sequinned headdress, letting her curls bob free.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the one, the only ... The Amazing Sasha!", yelled the ring master, as Sasha rode triumphantly out of the ring, and the crowd went wild, shouting, whistling, and stamping their feet in appreciation. Vince was too stunned to do anything except stare after her, gently stroking the red hairband.

In the carriage home, Vince was so quiet that his mother softly stroked his hair, and said, "You must be all tired out, darling. This is very late to be up, you know".

"Stuff and nonsense", snorted Vince's father. "He's just had his first smile from a pretty girl, and his head's in a dream". He patted Vince's shoulder as if to say they were men together, and Vince could count on him to understand.

"She was an odd-looking girl", said Vince's mother thoughtfully. "A figure all flat and straight like a boy, strong like a boy too. Her face was more like a pretty boy than a pretty girl, even wearing heavy make-up".

"Her hindquarters weren't like a boy's", said Vince's father with satisfaction. "Besides, pretty girl, pretty boy ... what does it matter, eh Vince? Whatever takes your fancy".

Vince didn't answer. He was thinking about the bareback rider, until his head nodded and he fell asleep. Vince's mother smiled, and gently moved him so that his head was on her breast, her arm holding him safely in place, and he slept the rest of the way home.

The next day, Vince got out his pencils and paints, and drew a picture of Sasha riding the Arabian horse, using his paints to colour her costume exactly right. He wanted to recall every detail of what she was wearing. He diffidently showed his mother the picture.

"Vince, this is wonderful! What a pretty picture. May Mama put it on the wall of her dressing room?".

Vince nodded. He would have liked to keep the picture himself, but he could do another one. He drew sketch after sketch, trying to remember all the stunts Sasha had done, all the poses she had pulled. He drew one of her face as she had ridden past, her high cheekbones painted white, her red lips like an open flower, her silky black curls bouncing on her collar when she removed the hairband.

"Got quite a case, hasn't he?", Vince's father commented when he got home in the evening, and was confronted with dozens of pictures of the bareback rider.

"He's really very good, Rob", Vince's mother said. "I think these are extraordinary for a boy his age".

"One smile from a little Russian doxie and the boy turns into a painter", Vince's father said sardonically. "Love either turns men into poets or artists. Vince must be the second type".

Vince wasn't sure if he was in love with the rider or not. He never imagined kissing or hugging her, but he wondered if her curls would feel coarse to the touch, like a horse's mane, or soft, like a blackbird's wing. And he wanted to see how she made her face so white and her lips so red. He did imagine he was performing like her, wearing the same costume, and he made some more sketches of it, because he could never get the tucks at the waistband quite right.

"If I'd known she was going to have this effect on him, I would have bought him a night with her. Get it out of his system", Vince's father muttered.

"Don't be vulgar, please Rob!", exclaimed Vince's mother. "He's only a little boy, and I don't want him to think of people being used that way".

That made Vince picture what he would do if his father had bought him the rider for a night. He knew straight away – he would ask her to teach him to ride the way she did. Even one night of training would be better than none.

After a week of drawing and painting, trying to fix everything in his mind, Vince went to talk to Finn, and told him everything he could remember. He asked Finn if he thought they could do any of the stunts the bareback rider and her horse had done, and received enthusiastic assent. Finn said if she had learned all that without being able to talk to her horse, Vince would learn even faster.

Learning to stand up was easy. Finn kept to a walking pace, and promised not to make any sudden movements. Vince tried to remember where the girl had put her feet, and he slowly stood up, holding his arms out to balance himself. It was a shaky start, but it was a start. When Vince felt confident enough, and they had practised again and again, they tried it with Finn doing a very slow canter. Vince promptly fell off. He fell off many times, but he knew how to fall, and Finn wasn't that high. Both horse and boy were patient and determined, and eventually Finn was cantering around the field with Vince standing proudly on his back.

Vince's father liked showing off his son's riding skills to others, but he was less pleased when he came into the field and saw Finn cantering in a circle with Vince standing on his back, feet spread wide, knees bent, arms outstretched.

"I brought you up to ride like a gentleman, not an Egyptian or an mountebank", he said to Vince. "Come here".

Vince came over warily, expecting to get whipped again, but this time his father only hugged him roughly and knuckled him on the head.

"So this is why you couldn't stop thinking about the bareback rider", said Vince's father. "You've got nerve, I'll say that for you".

Later on, he showed his gentlemen friends that Vince could now stand on his hands while riding Finn bareback.

"Took him to a wild beast show where a Russian girl was doing trick riding", he said with feigned casualness. "Would you believe, the little imp started trying it for himself? Starting to wonder if his mother went to a fairground nine months before he was born".

"You're telling us this only started after the show at Ash Tree Hill?", said one of the gentlemen sceptically. "That was barely six weeks ago, and you say the boy has learned all this after seeing a girl do it once, with nobody to teach him? That's not horsemanship, that's witchcraft".

"Pah, are we a bunch of old women who cry witchcraft when the bread doesn't rise?", said Vince's father in irritation. "Vince has been a good rider since he first sat on a horse, and he's been working hard, every day. It's just natural talent and constant practice".

Some of the gentlemen didn't seem sure as to how natural Vince's talent was, and Vince's father turned around in a temper, and strode over to where Vince was working on his handstand.

"That's enough for today, Vince", he said curtly. "You'll tire Finn out if you keep going like this. Take him to the stables, please".

"Yes, Papa", Vince said in a docile voice. He didn't feel docile though, he felt angry and frustrated.

"And Vince?".

"Yes, Papa?".

"I'm proud of what you have accomplished", said Vince's father. "If you give Finn a rest now, we can go for a ride together this afternoon. Would you like that?".

"Yes, Papa", said Vince, with a sudden vivid smile. He took the red sequinned hairband off, having taken to wearing it as a good luck token.

So Vince's days continued, most of them happy, nearly all without incident. He played games by himself and with his parents, he spoke to the birds and beasts, he and his pony worked together on their bareback riding skills, he painted many pictures in a book which became a journal. Mrs Pelham did nearly all the work, and nobody gave her a thought. The seasons turned from musty autumn to crisp winter, until the garden was filled with spring flowers again, and all the promise of summer ahead.

"You're my handsome Vincey Princey, the handsomest boy in the Kingdom of Camden", his mother would say when she put him to bed with a loving kiss.

His father would say, "You spoil that boy, Evie, and let's have no more nonsense now", but after his mother had left the room, his father would duck back and slip some sweets into Vince's hand, whispering conspiratorially that he mustn't tell his mother about it.

"Night, Vince", his father said, leaning down to give him a hug and a kiss. Vince kissed back with lips sticky with sugar, and fell asleep, thinking he must be the luckiest boy in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stick of rock: an old-fashioned sweet flavoured with peppermint. Forerunner to the candy cane.
> 
> kirtle: (historic) a one-piece garment with bodice and skirt combined, worn over a tunic of some kind. What we might call a pinafore dress, or a gym slip.
> 
> doxie: (archaic) a prostitute, or a woman believed to be easily sexually available.
> 
> Egyptian: (archaic) Gypsy
> 
> mountebank: (archaic) acrobat
> 
> nine months before: not necessarily a joking slur on Vince's mother's fidelity – even as late as the early 20th century in our world, it was superstitiously believed by some that simply seeing something or someone unusual while pregnant could affect the baby's appearance or character. 
> 
> Ash Tree Hill: a fictional market town.


	3. Dark Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a tragedy, Vince's world starts to unravel. The surprising Mrs Pelham gives him plenty to think about as they struggle to hold the household together.

Vince thought he was the luckiest boy in the world, but all his luck unexpectedly ran out at once. His mother became ill from fever at the end of a summer that had been unusually hot and muggy, and Vince and his father were kept away from her lest she infect them. Mrs Pelham sat tirelessly by her bedside, feeding her broth, and herbal teas she had made herself, wiping her hands and face with a damp cloth to cool her.

After a miserable week, Mrs Pelham came out of the sick room looking hopeless and resigned, and said gently, "I'm sorry, laddie. I can do no more for her. Go in and see her one last time".

Vince tiptoed in to his mother's darkened room, and saw her face on the pillow, pale and pinched, her blue eyes with dark circles beneath them. He took her hand, softly saying, "Mama?".

"I'm sorry Mama isn't looking very pretty today, darling boy", she said with a wan smile.

Vince got her comb to smooth out the tangles in her damp hair, and patted some cologne on her temples. He kissed her cheek, and then his mother closed her eyes, and a great light went out of that house which could never be rekindled.

It was a dark house to live in, those dark days after her death. Vince's father insisted on keeping all the curtains and blinds shut as a sign of respect so that no sunlight could come in. There were no vases of flowers in the house, no singing or dancing, and everything felt stale and dusty. Even worse, Vince's father became cold and distant in his grief, and there were no bedtime kisses and cuddles any more, his father seeming to prefer a nasty-smelling drink to nice sweets. He was rarely at home now.

"I don't think I will ever smile again", Vince said to Mrs Pelham as he came into the kitchen one day.

"I don't feel that cheerful myself, laddie", Mrs Pelham admitted with a sigh, as she got out the vegetables for soup. "But it does you no good to wander about the house like a lost little ghost. Why don't you help me in the kitchen, at least? Keep your hands busy, and there's less time for your mind to brood over its loss".

Vince listlessly agreed, and Mrs Pelham showed him how to wash and peel the vegetables ready to be chopped. Later he stirred the soup for her, and she added barley, and rice, and beans to the soup to thicken it. His father didn't come home for dinner, so Vince ate in the kitchen with Mrs Pelham. At least there it was warm, and the firelight made it homely.

After that, Vince helped Mrs Pelham in the kitchen every day. There was firewood to be gathered, the fire to tend, vegetables to be prepared, water to fetch from the well. Vince was horrified to discover just how much work Mrs Pelham had been expected to do every day, and gladly did the sweeping, the dusting, and the mopping to lighten her load.

One day, Mrs Pelham asked Vince if he would pop over to the farm and collect their eggs and milk. "Only, I don't have the money ready this morning, laddie, so ask the farmer's wife if she can give it to us on tick, just this once".

At the farm, Vince said, "Good morning, Mrs Fielding. I'm here for the eggs and milk, but Mrs Pelham mislaid the egg money. Can we pay you back for it later, please?".

Mrs Fielding looked indignant. "For shame, sending a child over to beg for food, the old hussy! I'll give you the eggs and milk, Vince, but I can't keep doing this. The farm still has to turn a profit".

She gave him a dozen eggs and half a gallon of milk, as well as butter, cream, and some raspberries and tomatoes from her garden. "That was a present, because I know things are hard for you. And now, please pay off your debts before coming back", she said.

"Thank you Mrs Fielding, you're very kind", said Vince, managing a weak smile.

Vince gave the produce to Mrs Pelham on his return, and asked why they were in debt to the farmer. "Why don't we have any money for food?", he demanded. "Where did it all go?".

"The truth is, you never had as much money as you thought you did", Mrs Pelham said uncomfortably. "Your Ma and Dadda were only a pair of childer when they married, and they inherited their fortunes too young, with nobody left to guide them in their management. Did you never wonder why a house this size didn't have half a dozen servants to care for it, and not just one old woman?".

Vince shook his head.

"They survived on the good will of the few servants willing to remain, in loyalty to the old lord, Mr Peregrine Noir", Mrs Pelham said. "Oh, he was a fine man, your grandfather, I wish you could have known him. He wasn't only a gentleman, but a man who was gentle, and that kind-hearted. He loved animals, and was a great horseman, just like yourself. And he had a smile like yours as well, that lit up a room, and shone right through his eyes".

Vince murmured that he would loved to known his grandfather, then asked, "Mrs Pelham, when were your wages paid last?".

"Oh, laddie. I haven't been paid for many a long year", she replied. "I stayed because I had nowhere else to go, and because I knew you'd need me, one day. And your Ma was a pleasure to work for, a sweet lady who wouldn't have known how to make difficulties if she tried".

Now that he understood the grim circumstances of their family a little better, Mrs Pelham showed Vince how she had been finding food, and making it go further. The flower garden was allowed to let go, and Vince and Mrs Pelham concentrated on digging in and weeding the kitchen garden, which was their main source of food.

At that season, they had carrots, celery, leeks, broad beans, peas, and potatoes, some of which were put up in glass jars to be kept for the winter, and there were apples and plums on the trees to be made into pies, puddings, and preserves. Luckily, there were plenty of seeds so they could sow the next season's crops.

They went out into the fields as the sun rose to pick mushrooms, half of which Mrs Pelham dried so that they could be added to soups, stews, and pies in the winter. In the forest they gathered blackberries to be made into jam, bilberries for pies, and took hips and haws from the hedges, to be made into jellies. They caught eels in the river, which Mrs Pelham smoked to preserve, and picked nuts from the trees.

Once a week, Mrs Pelham managed to scare up a few coppers, and sent Vince on Finn to the village shop to buy one or two things they needed. It was a ruse to get rid of him, so that Mrs Pelham could go out with her slingshot and get them a rabbit, a hedgehog, or a couple of squirrels. By the time Vince got home, they were already cooking in a stew which Mrs Pelham invariably called "chicken", saying it was a tough old bird no one on the farm would eat.

"Forgive me my lies, but the lad has to eat _something_ ", she told herself guiltily.

One day Vince came back from the forest, declaring that the blackberries were no good to eat any more. "And I tore my clothes on the brambles", he said ruefully. "I have to throw these out, Mrs Pelham, and I've nothing else to wear".

"What? Throw out perfectly good sturdy cloth?", said Mrs Pelham, aghast. "Why, the clothes can be mended, laddie, good as new".

Mrs Pelham showed Vince how to mend tears in his clothing. He was such a quick learner that she went on to tell him that she could also teach him to make himself new clothes.

Vince quietly went into his mother's dressing room, and began looking for something that could be remade into clothes he could wear. Most of her dresses were too fine and delicate, but at the back of the wardrobe he found an old black velvet dress she had worn at fifteen after the death of her parents, and which soon became too short for her to wear again.

He showed it to Mrs Pelham, and together they made it into a suit for him; black velvet knickerbockers and a matching jacket with a lace collar that did up with pearl buttons. It would be warm for the autumn and winter, and respectable enough to wear when he went shopping in the village.

"I think I will always wear black clothes from now on", said Vince, as he showed Mrs Pelham the finished product. "Then I can be in mourning all the rest of my days, like in that poem by Mr Robert Smith".

"If you wear black all the time, then you're not in mourning", said Mrs Pelham. "It's just your ordinary clothes. A year is long enough for you to wear black and mourn for your Ma, laddie. She loved to dress you in bright colours, remember?".

Mrs Pelham was still examining Vince's handiwork when a voice cut through their conversation like a knife.

"Where did you get those clothes?", Vince's father demanded accusingly.

"From the back of Mama's wardrobe", faltered Vince. "It was an old dress she never wore, and I needed warm clothes".

"The room where your mother died is sacred", said Vince's father, a cold edge to his voice. "I will have it locked up, and neither of you are to go in there again; going through her things, ransacking her possessions, taking what doesn't belong to you! Do you understand me?".

"Yes, Papa", said Vince, his heart breaking, because he had often gone into his mother's room to smell her perfume on her clothes, and find comfort there.

"If you needed clothes, you should have come to me, Vince", his father said. "I will always provide for you".

"Thank you, Papa", said Vince, although he could not help a trace of irony entering his voice.

The next day, Vince found some old clothes on his bed, and guessed his father had put them there. He recognised them as belonging to the eldest son of Farmer Fielding, a boy a year or two older than he, and somewhat taller and heavier in build also.

The clothes were too big for him, and had already seen hard wear, but Vince could see they were more practical for doing housework and running around in the forest than his velvet suit. Mrs Pelham helped him to alter the clothing so that it fit him properly, telling him that the clothes could be let out again as he grew longer and broader.

The autumn wore on, and the garden was producing less food. The trees and shrubs had finished fruiting weeks ago, their produce locked up for the winter as preserves, jellies, and jam. There was nothing else in the forest to be eaten (except for the small animals which were Mrs Pelham's guilty secret), and they still hadn't paid their bill at the farm.

"I don't know what we're going to do now", said Mrs Pelham worriedly. "We've got onions, potatoes, and carrots stored, and a few jars of vegetables, and jams, and that's about it. No meat, no eggs, and no milk or butter or cheese. We're running low on tea, and the jam has been heavy on the sugar supplies".

"I've got two copper coins", offered Vince. "A lady gave them to me in the village, saying I was a poor brave boy and no mistake. We could either have two copperworths of flour, or of rice. Would that help?".

"No, laddie. You keep your money for a harder day, as my Dadda used to say", said Mrs Pelham, her little wrinkled brown face looking even more wrinkled in its worry. "There's flour and yeast yet to make bread, and if we don't have butter, there's a bit of dripping left".

The door creaked open, and Vince's dad stalked into the kitchen in his high riding boots. Although it was nearly six in the morning, Vince knew that his father had just got home after being out all night, and he had the nasty smell on him.

"You're always in the kitchen with the old woman", said Vince's father contemptuously. "When your mother was alive, you never lifted a finger to help _her_ ".

"I was only a little boy then", Vince said steadily. "I'm more responsible now, and Mrs Pelham is growing older, and needs more help".

"Never thought I'd see my son sitting in the grate like a little ash boy", sneered Vince's father. "And what is the purpose of this important … meeting you are conducting?".

"We're drawing up the menus for the coming week, sir", said Mrs Pelham. "Only we've come to difficulties, as food is scarce this time of year, and our bill still not paid at the farm".

"Is that what you've been scheming about?", said Vince's father. "Look, I have plenty of money".

He put his hand in his coat pocket, and unsteadily threw handfuls of gold coins, which rolled all over the kitchen floor.

"Don't worry – Robin Noir takes care of his family like a gentleman", Vince's father said, slightly slurring his words, as he left.

"Mrs Pelham, there's more than enough money for food", said Vince excitedly. "Maybe Papa has more money than you think".

"Aye, mayhap laddie, and mayhap goats will swim underwater like fish", said Mrs Pelham drily. "Don't trust money that comes from the gaming tables. It disappears like fool's gold".

But Vince was too relieved to feel cynical about the money. He put on his black velvet suit and went straight over to the farm to pay their bill and buy more food. A now smiling Mrs Fielding helped him fill up a basket with everything they needed, and added a tin of home made shortbread and a tin of home made toffee, saying she had three boys of her own, and knew how they loved sweets. Vince admitted he did like sweets, but didn't say he would be glad just to have a proper meal.

As he was walking home, Farmer Fielding waved to him, and jogged over to say hello.

"Oh Vince, how good to see you out and about. We wanted to call on you, but didn't like to intrude on your grief. That was a bad business, a terrible thing to lose such a dear, sweet lady. I'm sorry if my wife was a bit cross last time; she doesn't understand that gentlemen like your papa see debt differently from us ordinary folk. I don't want you bothering your head about bills and things, see? Look, I just killed a couple of geese – would you like one for Sunday dinner? Ha ha, I bet you would! And of course we'll be giving you one for Yuletide, same as always. And I'll be killing the pigs soon, and I can send you over a big hamper of pork and bacon, and a whole side of beef too, if you'd like it".

Farmer Fielding didn't say this all in a big lump, but interspersed with Vince saying hello, and yes it was, and thank you, and how kind, and that would be lovely, and what a nice man he was.

"Just trying to be a good neighbour", said Farmer Fielding genially, as he added a plump goose to Vince's already heavily laden basket.

Vince gave Mrs Pelham all this welcome news as he sucked on a square of toffee, while Mrs Pelham herself was busy plucking the goose, ready to clean it so that it could be hung in the pantry until she was ready to cook it on Sunday. She had her own thoughts on the generosity of Farmer Fielding, but kept them to herself.

That Sunday, they had roast goose stuffed with sage and onion, served with baked apple and bread sauce, roast potatoes crisp with goose fat, boiled carrots, and sprouts dug out of the cold garden. For afters, there was a bottled plum pie with cream, and there was milk for their tea, and plenty of sugar if they wanted it, for Vince had done the shopping in the village by attaching Finn to a pony cart, and telling him it was the only way they could get food supplies in for the winter.

After they had washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, Vince sat in front of the fire and read from a book of poetry by Mr Robert Smith:

_I found myself alone, alone_  
_Alone above the raging sea_  
_That stole the only girl I loved_  
_And drowned her deep inside of me._

"He must have indigestion of some sort", said Mrs Pelham wonderingly.

"No, Mrs Pelham. Mr Robert Smith is the greatest Gothic poet of his generation", Vince explained.

"Well, if he'd just eaten a good goose dinner after getting up at five for a hard morning's work, he couldn't have written that", said Mrs Pelham positively. "Unless he had indigestion".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fever: probably typhoid. Very common before modern sanitation, with a high mortality rate.
> 
> on tick: (dated) on credit.
> 
> childer: (Northern English dialect) children
> 
> old lord: Vince's grandfather was just the lord of the manor, and not Lord Noir or some other noble title, as Mrs Pelham only refers to him as Mr Noir.
> 
> blackberries were no good to eat: in southern England, blackberries become unfit to eat around late September.
> 
> black velvet suit: Vince's suit sounds an awful lot like a Little Lord Fauntleroy suit, made very popular for little boys to wear in the late 19th century after the novel by Frances Hodgson-Burnett.
> 
> copperworths: neologism based on the word pennyworths.
> 
> dripping: the fat from a cow, used in cooking, and able to be spread on bread or toast like butter.
> 
> Yuletide: originally a pagan festival beginning around the Winter Solstice, lasting several days. There is no Christmas in this world.
> 
> hamper of pork and bacon: a prosperous farmer might well give such a gift to the "deserving poor" of his neighbourhood out of charity; likewise, he might also give such a gift to the lord of the manor, in thanks for being allowed to work his land. It is ambiguous which category the Noirs fall into now.
> 
> Robert Smith: the lines of Gothic poetry are from The Cure's "Just Like Heaven" (1987).


	4. The Fall of the House of Noir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse and worse for poor Vince, with one disaster following another. The only ray of hope is that there seems to be at least one person in his corner.

Vince Noir had gone from thinking he must be the happiest boy in the world to thinking he must be the saddest boy in all the kingdom. Although it was now clear they weren't going to starve, they had entered the cold months, and while poverty may be worn lightly in the summer, and autumn only shines it brighter, it is nothing but a burden in winter. Vince and Mrs Pelham were forced to spend nearly all their time in the warmth of the kitchen that never felt quite warm enough, jealously feeding and guarding their little fire, and occasionally getting on each other's nerves.

Vince's father had given him a fur coat for Yuletide. It didn't look new, and Vince guessed it was one that his father had worn when he was a boy, but he was grateful for its warmth. He felt guilty seeing Mrs Pelham with nothing but an old jumper and cardigan worn over her long tartan skirt, so he took one of the woollen blankets off his bed, and made it into a heavy winter coat for her.

"Ah, thank you laddie, you have the good heart in you", Mrs Pelham said. "This will be grand for going out to find firewood, or into the garden, now". She placed a dry kiss on his cheek that felt like being brushed with an autumn leaf.

Vince had gone looking for a spare blanket, for they had carved wooden chests filled with linen and rugs, packed with lavender, rosemary, and cloves to keep out the moths. He couldn't find anything, and it seemed to him that all through the winter, things kept disappearing from the house.

It was always the pretty things, the valuable things that went missing, never anything ugly and useful, and Vince was forced to see that his father was selling off all the linen, blankets, vases, clocks, mirrors, carpets, rugs, ornaments, tapestries, and paintings in the house, bit by bit. What happened to the money, he did not know, but he feared his father took it to the inns, taverns, and gaming houses in the district. He hoped nothing worse than that.

Then one grey day in early spring, Vince's father sold Finn. He didn't tell Vince anything about it, a man just arrived ready to take Finn with him. Vince had been cleaning out the stables, and when he realised what was happening, he let out a long, despairing shriek.

"Please Papa, please .... no, you can't do this ... please, not Finn!", he babbled, incoherent with shock, and tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

He lay on the ground, holding onto his father's ankles in supplication as he begged to be allowed to keep his pony.

"You spoiled little bastard", Vince's father said in disgust. "You didn't cry like this when your mother died".

He whipped at Vince's hands to make him take them off his ankles, and finally lost his temper, and slashed the whip over Vince's face until he had two lines of blood over his cheekbones.

"I hate you, and I wish you were dead!", Vince shouted at his father, still sobbing. In this world, no preteen had ever before said these words to a parent, so it was devastating in its originality.

Vince's father looked down at his son, and said coolly, "Well, it will happen one day. And when it does, all this shall be yours, son". He gestured ironically at the empty stables, the miserable cold house, and the dead garden.

"I can see it's time for me to take your education in hand, if this is what comes of a boy being brought up by women", he continued. "First your mother petted and spoiled you as if you were a babe still at her teat, now an old woman is making you cook and sew like a maiden. From now on, you'll be spending your days and nights with me, and I'll show you how to grow up to be a man".

Vince gave one horrified sob, and ran and ran to the place where his mother was buried in a grove of yew trees. He lay on her grave, crying his heart out, more miserable than he had ever thought possible. The loss of Finn was a severe one, for the pony had been his best friend, and the only one he had been able to talk to about his problems. Mrs Pelham was kind and sensible, but she wasn't very good at talking about feelings, or poetry, or hopes and dreams.

And poor Finn – he hadn't known what was going to happen, this was a shock for him too, and Vince hadn't been able to comfort him. His last memory of Vince would be hearing his best friend shriek and cry in pain, grovelling in the mud, and being whipped. That sort of thing can cause horses and ponies terrible damage, for they are sensitive beasts, with long memories for fear and sadness. And Finn was going to people who wouldn't be able to understand his speech, and would treat him like a dumb animal.

Vince lay against the earth which covered his mother as if trying to lie against her breast. "Please Mama, please Mama", he said, and nothing else, because he didn't know what he was asking of her. He only knew that his life had become insupportable since she died.

Mrs Pelham eventually found him, lying insensible on his mother's grave. She gently helped him up, then carried him to the house, dressed his wounds, and put him to bed. Mrs Pelham lit the fire in his bedroom to keep him warm, and brought him vegetable soup and hot sweet tea. She let him cry, and she let him fall asleep when he needed to, and she listened to everything he said. When it grew dark, she brought him boiled eggs and toast, and washed his hands and face, and told him to get a good night's sleep, there's a lad.

It was Mrs Pelham who came to him in the hour before dawn, her face looking drawn, and older than he had ever thought possible.

"Oh, laddie", she said in a broken voice. "It's terrible news I bring you".

There had been accident, and Vince's father thrown from the horse he was riding on his way home from the inn. He had long sold all his fine riding horses, and this was one borrowed from a farmer, more used to pulling a plough than having a man on its back. The horse frighted at something and became a runaway; Vince's father had fallen and been dragged before ending up in a ditch, his skull crushed by one of the horse's hooves, and his back broken. It could only be hoped that all he had drunk did something to dull the pain he suffered before death took him.

The very day of Vince's father's funeral, when he was laid to rest under the yews with a gravestone for Robin D'Arcy Noir, next to his beloved wife Evelina Linnet Noir, the family lawyer arrived, introducing himself as Mr Pike, of the illustrious firm Pinchpenny and Pike. Vince was sent outside.

"Is there anyone I can talk to about the child's affairs?", Mr Pike asked.

"You can talk to me", said Mrs Pelham firmly.

"Aren't you the housekeeper?", he asked, looking dubious.

"I'm ... I'm a friend of the family", said Mrs Pelham, because you can hardly be a housekeeper when you haven't received wages for many years.

Mr Pike accepted that, and bluntly laid out Vince's position. His father had long sold the farm to Mr Fielding, for far less than its true worth. He had sold everything of his wife's, all her clothing and jewellery, her furniture, and other personal possessions. He had sold everything of value he could get his hands on, and there remained only the house. Mr Pike thought that if the house was sold, it would be just enough to pay off Mr Robin's gaming debts.

"I'm afraid that Master Vince has been left with nothing. Is there no relative he could be sent to, someone who could take him in?".

Mrs Pelham shook her head. "They are all passed now, bless them", she said, her head bowed as she made a gesture of respect.

"Then I'm afraid he must be sent to the orphanage at Blackleech", said Mr Pike.

Mrs Pelham's eyes blazed with indignation. "I know what happens to childer there, what is done to them, what they are forced to become", she said angrily.

"Whatever you imagine, I suggest you keep quiet about it, my dear lady", said Mr Pike.

"I shall take Vince myself", said Mrs Pelham. "Though I be but a poor old woman with nothing to my name, Vince would be better off with me than in that ... place".

"I must advise against it", said Mr Pike, in the tone of one who is compelled to do their duty even when they don't really care. "You are under no obligation to take charge of this child, and he is no kin to you at all. It means a great deal of expense and trouble, and you are at an age when you should be seeking rest and repose, not greater responsibility. I can take him to the orphanage right now, and no one will blame you in the least".

"There's no rest for me either way, and I'd blame myself right enough if aught happened to the lad", said Mrs Pelham stubbornly.

"Have it your own way", said Mr Pike, in the tone of someone who's done their duty and can't disguise how little they care. "I must be leaving you now, dear lady. If you and the young master could vacate the house as soon as possible, I can put it up for sale".

"Would tomorrow morning suit?", said Mrs Pelham with a layer of frost in her voice.

"That would be most helpful. Thank you", said Mr Pike.

He almost tripped over Vince, who had been sitting on the front doorstep, wondering what was to become of him.

"My condolences, Master Vince", he said with a bow. "Pinchpenny and Pike have been your family's solicitors for many years now, and I'm sure Mr Pinchpenny would join me in lamenting the sad loss of your parents at so young an age".

"I thought you said you were Mr Pinchpenny", said Vince.

"No, dear boy. I am Mr Pike. Mr Pinchpenny is the _senior_ partner in the firm, a much older man".

"He must be very old", said Vince, because Mr Pike looked to be in his late sixties.

"He doesn't get around much any more", Mr Pike acknowledged. "But his mind is as sharp as ever. Now, you should go talk to that excellent old dame of yours, and she can tell you all that we spoke about. Good day, Master Vince, and may happier times lie ahead for you".

Vince said goodbye to Mr Pike, and slowly walked through the heavy front door of his ancestral home, ready to learn his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr Pinchpenny's surname is obvious enough, as a “pinchpenny” is a miser, but "pike" is an old slang word for "steal".
> 
> Blackleech: A fictional town, large enough to have its own orphanage. Its name is from the Anglo-Saxon for "dark boggy stream“.
> 
> Phew! Sorry about poor Vince, but I promise the next chapter will be much less traumatic. Can you guess where the homeless Vince and Mrs Pelham will go next, and what they will do?


	5. Camden Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince and Mrs Pelham make a fresh start by moving to the city to seek their fortunes, and forge a new relationship. But how will Mrs Pelham support them?

"Ah, you poor wee bairn", lamented Mrs Pelham. "Left penniless, and forced to leave the hall of your fathers".

The pair of them were walking away from Vince's childhood home, Vince wearing his black velvet suit, Mrs Pelham in her tartan skirt. Both of them were carrying their few belongings in the time-honored fashion – wrapped up in polka dot scarves, and tied to sticks, which they wore slung over their shoulders.

"But where are we going, Mrs Pelham?", asked Vince, because with so little time to get ready, their destination was never discussed.

"To Camden Town", replied Mrs Pelham, stopping briefly to get a stone out of her shoe.

Camden Town! The kingdom's capital, and a name Vince had learned in a dozen nursery rhymes at his mother's knee.

_Which is the way to Camden Town_  
_To see the king in his golden crown?_  
_One foot up, and one foot down_  
_That is the way to Camden Town._

He had heard it in so many rhymes and tales that it barely seemed a real place, but rather something out of myth and legend, as you might think of Fairyland or Camelot. Now he was actually in a nursery rhyme, putting one foot in front of another in order to reach Camden Town.

"But that is many miles away!", Vince said in distress. "Must we walk all that distance by ourselves, wearing out shoe leather?".

"Nay, laddie", Mrs Pelham reassured him. "We only have to walk to the crossroads down there. That's where we catch the omnibus".

She pointed to a place where two roads crossed each other, about two hundred yards downhill. In another minute they had reached the place where the omnibus stopped, although there was nothing to mark it except the signpost pointing TO CAMDEN TOWN.

"So all this time, Mama and Papa could have taken me to Camden Town by just walking to the omnibus stop?", Vince said in surprise, suddenly realising that his little world had been closer to the wide world than he ever imagined.

"They would never have taken you on a public conveyance", snorted Mrs Pelham. "And your Ma and Dadda weren't ones for mixing with folk grander than themselves".

That was true, Vince thought. In all his life before, he and his parents had been the people at the top – the most well-born, the handsomest, the best-dressed, and seemingly the wealthiest. The idea that he might see great nobles and even royalty in Camden Town was a very exciting one.

He was still mulling this over when he saw the omnibus approaching, pulled by four strong-looking bay horses, and soon enough, it pulled up. The driver was a plump, curly-haired man in a pale blue uniform that didn't seem to fit him properly.

"Welcome to Dixon Bainbridge's Omniverse Omnibus, where all your dreams are oddly superfluous", said the man in a strange accent and rather babyish voice. "I am Bob Fossil, your driver for today, and I'll be taking you to the big place with all the castles and people and little boxes they live in and places where you can buy things".

"You mean Camden Town?", said Mrs Pelham sharply.

"Why yes indeedy, lovely lady", said Bob Fossil with a slightly vacant smile. Seeing Vince was patting the horses and talking to them in a low voice, he asked, "You like horsies, little boy? You wanna sit on Bobbsey's lap and ride the itty-bitty blue horsey all the way to the big smoke?".

"Away with you", said Mrs Pelham, bristling at this impertinence. "How dare you speak to my grandson like that? Vince, get on the omnibus at once before this lackwitted creature takes any further liberties".

Mrs Pelham climbed aboard the omnibus with Vince following her closely. She gave two coins to the omnibus conductor, a rather scruffy fellow with untidy dark hair, wearing a green uniform whose name badge read KEROUAC. He wordlessly pointed to two seats they could sit in, and then the omnibus began moving. They were on the road to Camden Town, Vince leaving his old life behind forever.

"Mrs Pelham, I'm not really your grandson", Vince said confidentially, with all the compunction of a child who has been whipped for telling lies.

"I know, laddie. I think it would be safest if we tell people that you are. Otherwise, they may try to take you away from me", Mrs Pelham explained.

"What would I call you?".

"Whatever you like, laddie".

Vince had a think, then suggested, "What about Granny Pelham?".

"That will do nicely. Now, we had an early start and it's a long journey to Camden Town, so why don't you put your head on my shoulder and have a little sleepie?", said Granny Pelham, passing Vince a pear drop.

Vince obediently put his head on his new granny's bony shoulder and sucked on his sweet in enjoyment, but everything was far too interesting for him to go to sleep. They were travelling through thick woods with trees, shrubs, ferns and and vines lining the road, until they came to farmland with green fields, and then villages that Vince had never been to before. Some not very different to his own, which was little more than a hamlet with a village shop and a scattered half dozen cottages, but others had dozens of houses and shops arranged around a village green with a pond covered in white ducks.

Every time the omnibus stopped in a town or village, people got on, until it was clear they were all travelling up to Camden Town together. Vince looked at everyone, and tried not to stare, wondering who they all were, and why they had to go to the city.

Around mid-morning the omnibus stopped in Blackleech for half an hour so the horses and driver could rest, and most of the passengers took the opportunity to go a tea shop or buy a few things. Granny Pelham and Vince couldn't afford that, but they got out and stretched their legs. Granny looked in her sack and found some homemade oat biscuits they could nibble on, and there was a tap in the street with a rusty mug on a chain that passers by could drink from. The water tasted flat and strange to Vince, nothing at all like the well water he was used to.

Blackleech was a large town, so bustling that Vince could barely believe that Camden Town would be any bigger – why, it was busier than Ash Tree Hill on market day! There was something rather grim and dirty about it though, and most of the people walking past them looked surly and rough, so Vince was glad they weren't going to live there. Little did he realise that without Granny Pelham's intervention, Blackleech would have been his home for many years to come.

The second half of the journey, the omnibus mostly travelled through scrubby heath and marshland, which was duller to look at. Vince really did fall asleep then, and Granny Pelham put an arm around him so that he didn’t fall off the seat. Her own eyes remained as open and alert as ever, because she knew they were likely to be robbed if they both nodded off on an omnibus.

Vince woke up when they reached the town of Sudforth, rubbing his eyes at its wealth and importance. And then they were beside the great River Tayo, so broad and deep, stretching as far west as the eye could see, that Vince held onto Granny Pelham’s hand as the omnibus drove over the bridge. He looked down at the water, listening to the wheels rattle on the bridge, and tried not to imagine what would happen if they all pitched over the side into the depths below. After all, wasn't there another rhyme about Camden Bridge falling down?

“It’s all right, laddie, we’re safe enough”, Granny said, squeezing his hand, and he smiled at her a little nervously.

But across the Tayo rose the grey stone walls of Camden Town, its massive arched gate open, as if inviting all citizens of the kingdom to enter. The omnibus stopped outside the city walls, and its passengers alighted; Vince and Granny Pelham followed the others as they made their way towards the gate.

“It’s so funny to think of a city having a front gate, just like a house”, said Vince.

“Oh, this isn’t the front gate, laddie”, Granny Pelham told him. “There are seven gates to the city, and the main one is the East Gate, facing the sea. This is the Palace Gate. Only those on foot can use it – that’s why the omnibus stops outside”.

Once through the gate, there was a busy thoroughfare lined with houses and shops, many people selling their wares on the street, the road leading up to a castle on a hill with shining white walls and four great towers, one at each corner. From its roof flew the kingdom’s flag, scarlet with a white horse on its hind legs, as a sign that the king was in residence.

“Granny Pelham, what are we going to do in Camden Town?”, asked Vince, overwhelmed with the sights, sounds, and smells of the capital.

“I’m going to ask for my old position back”, Granny Pelham replied.

“What did you used to do?”.

“I was the head pastry cook at Dalston Palace”, Granny Pelham said. “But I don’t know if they’ll want me back after so many years”.

“Oh Granny Pelham, I’m sure they will”, Vince said. “You make the most wonderful pies”.

Granny sniffed. “Pies! When I worked in the palace kitchens, I made the finest puddings, all fit for the king himself. Cakes shaped like the castle, with a glass river running past with choux pastry swans on it, and the royal family all done in perfect chocolate figurines. In summer I made iced cream, in winter, spiced puddings and biscuits for Yuletide. It was a lot more than a few pies!”.

“That all sounds wonderful. Of course they’ll want you back”, Vince said confidently.

“First we’ll have a little spot of dinner”, Granny Pelham said. “Never turn up hungry when asking for a job, laddie. If they can smell hunger or desperation, you don’t stand a chance”.

Granny Pelham opened her sack, and took out some bread and cheese she’d packed that morning. It was all the food they had, and when they’d finished Granny took her last coin and bought a bottle of ginger beer from a street seller, which they shared. They washed their hands and faces under a public tap, and Granny tidied her hair as best she could.

Then they walked up to Dalston Palace, and Granny Pelham showed Vince where to go as she slipped around to an insignificant-looking side door used by the palace staff.

“Name and business”, said a tall, burly-looking guard at the entrance.

“Mrs Pelham. I worked here before, and am seeking a position here again”.

“And the kid?”.

“My grandson”.

The guard spoke to a porter inside the door, and Granny Pelham and Vince were allowed through, entering a long dark corridor. A servant led them to the office of the Clerk of the Kitchen, which Granny entered after knocking and being called in, leaving Vince outside in the corridor.

“Be good and wait for Granny here, laddie”, she said, gesturing to a bench he could sit on.

*******************************************

Mrs Pelham curtseyed as she came through the door, murmuring “Good afternoon, sir”.

The Clerk of the Kitchen was a nattily-dressed man in his late fifties with a large bare forehead, and shrewd eyes behind his little round spectacles. He looked up from his desk where he had been doing accounts, and said blankly, “My stars, it’s Mrs Pelham! Please, have a seat, madam”.

Mrs Pelham sat down with a word of thanks, trying not to look hungry and desperate, and not entirely succeeding. It’s so difficult to pull this off when you have just eaten your last morsel of food and spent your last coin.

“You have gone up in the world, Mr Gorton”, said Mrs Pelham. “When I left, you were the head butler”.

“Oh yes, I have had a promotion or two since then. It’s very kind of you to drop in for a visit like this, Mrs Pelham. May I offer you a glass of sherry?”.

“It’s not a social visit, Mr Gorton. I have come to ask if my former position is still open”.

“Goodness me. Well, have a sherry anyway – or perhaps you’d prefer a nice cup of tea?”.

He fetched Mrs Pelham a cup of tea from the silver urn in a corner of his office, and then suddenly looked very serious and business-like.

“Now, Mrs Pelham. You left us more than a dozen years ago, in order to take up a position as cook to a widowed gentleman in the country. Sounds ideal. Nice and quiet, not much work involved, and would have left you well set up for your old age”.

Mr Gorton looked sharply at Mrs Pelham, at her dirty shoes, her old clothes, her work-hardened hands, her back bowed from carrying burdens.

“It suited me perfectly, Mr Gorton. But then the gentleman passed on, and his son inherited the estate”.

“Aha. And that wasn’t so good?”.

“Not quite”, said Mrs Pelham carefully, sipping her tea. “And then the son died, very unexpectedly in an accident, and the house was sold up”.

“I see. Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Pelham. Sorry to hear that you’ve had this trouble, and been left high and dry, so to speak”.

He shuffled with some papers and gave Mrs Pelham a considering look.

“You’ve had a bit of bad luck, but perhaps it’s time for you to have some good luck. As it happens, our pastry cook has just left. He received a very tempting offer to work for the French royal family in Paris, much more money than he could make here. I could offer you the position right now. Shall we say, at ten percent less than your old wages?”.

Mrs Pelham’s heart sunk a little, because nobody likes getting a pay cut and missing out on more than a dozen years of wage rises at the same time.

“That's very kind of you, Mr Gorton”, she said, perhaps sounding slightly less grateful than she might have. “I suppose it's only fair you pay me less, considering my age, and how long it is since I worked here”.

“I'm glad you see that for yourself, Mrs Pelham”, said Mr Gorton eagerly. “And there are a lot of perks, as you know. We give you free uniforms, and launder them each day. All meals free in the staff dining room. And your own room at the palace – something quite superior due to your position. We've redecorated since you were last here, done a lot of modernising in the staff quarters”.

“That all sounds very nice. But you know, I have my grandson living with me now”.

“Your grandson? How old is he?”, asked Mr Gorton with a frown.

“He's nearly ten”.

“Is he the child of your son or daughter?”.

“Oh, my daughter, to be sure”, Mrs Pelham said.

“I wasn't aware you had any children, Mrs Pelham”.

“Well … she was sort of an adopted daughter, and she passed away last summer, you see, and I was the only one who could take the lad”.

“Dear, dear”, said Mr Gorton, thinking how messy Mrs Pelham's life was, and rather regretting not sending her away with a glass of sherry and a recommendation for a women's hostel. “Well, I'm very sorry for your loss and the situation you're in, but we can't be expected to feed and clothe children as well”.

“You don't have to do that Mr Gorton, if I could only have him live in my room with me”, said Mrs Pelham. “He's a good lad, and that clean and quiet. He'll be no trouble to you, I promise”.

“Well, it's most irregular”, said Mr Gorton. “But I suppose it could be arranged. He's old enough not to need looking after, and not old enough to be a trouble with the maids and wenches”.

“Thank you, Mr Gorton. You've got the kind heart, so you do”, said Mrs Pelham, greatly relieved by how things had gone.

“Can you give me a few minutes, Mrs Pelham, and then I'll show you to your room? Er, and your grandson too”, said Mr Gorton, wondering if he'd really got the best of the bargain.

He'd got an experienced pastry cook relatively cheap, but she was a bit long in the tooth, and now there was a boy to consider. Why couldn't Mrs Pelham have had a granddaughter that they could train up in the kitchen, and eventually marry off to some pot-scrubbing scullion or other? A boy was going to be nothing but a nuisance.

*****************************************

Vince had been nervously twisting his fingers in his hands and unconsciously kicking the legs of the bench with his feet. He looked up in alarm when he saw Mrs Pelham come out of the office, but relaxed when he saw she was smiling.

“It's alright, laddie. I got the job”, she said as she come out.

“Oh, that's wonderful news, Granny Pelham”, said Vince in relief.

“We just have to wait for Mr Gorton and he'll show us to our room”, said Mrs Pelham. “Mind you be polite and grateful to him, because he's making a special arrangement to have you live with me”.

“You mean, we're going to be living _here_? In the palace?”, said Vince, open-mouthed.

“Yes, in the staff quarters”, said Mrs Pelham. “You'll have to be good and quiet, because there'll be people all around us, and they get up early and work long hours. You can't ever bother anyone or cause a fuss, or we'll both be out on our ears, laddie. You understand?”.

“Yes, Granny”, said Vince. “I promise I'll be good”.

They both began walking up the corridor, looking at the green walls, which had paintings and tapestries on them, in glass frames. One painting showed a king and queen on their thrones; standing on either side was a boy around Vince's age, and a merry-looking chubby blonde girl who was perhaps about four.

“Who are these people?”, asked Vince with interest. “Are they from a story?”.

“Why, that's the royal family”, said Granny Pelham in surprise. “That's the king on his throne, Peter Ironfoot. He lost his foot at the Battle of Everwick, but carried on through the pain until he had won the fight, and put more heart into his men with one foot than he did with two. After the battle, he had an iron foot made to replace the one he had lost”.

Vince looked more closely. Sure enough, one of the king's legs ended in a metallic grey foot, poking beneath the hem of his robe. The artist had made him look every inch the perfect king – tall, strong, yet noble, with an intelligent, thoughtful expression.

“When the battle was won and the enemy defeated, King Peter showed great mercy, for instead of acting the tyrant, he offered to marry Princess Ellen of Everwick, who had taken his fancy, so that the two kingdoms might be forever joined. He made Ellen's father swear him fealty, gave him many gifts of gold and silver, and vowed that from that day forth, the kingdoms of Camden and Everwick would be not only friends and allies, but also kinsfolk. That's why the Camden coat of arms shows the oak and the yew standing together, and white and red roses intertwined, as the symbols of both kingdoms”.

Queen Ellen had the same bright hair as her little daughter, and the artist had given her expression both wisdom and sweetness, although there was a tightly-drawn power to the way she held herself. She is like a golden falcon, Vince thought to himself. Held in check by the falconer's leathers, but made to fly free.

“Good Queen Ellen died two winters ago”, went on Mrs Pelham, “and it is said that King Peter has never been the same since”.

“Did he start drinking?”, asked Vince in innocent concern.

“Bless you, laddie, no! Just that he rarely smiles, and the heart has gone out of him. He was always serious, but he is more grave now. But there, a king has enough things to be worrying after that it is no wonder he looks long-faced at times”.

“And the boy and the girl?”, asked Vince, thinking that, like him, the royal children had recently lost their mother. Did the little girl still look so happy?

“Oh, they were born after I left the palace”, said Mrs Pelham, “and I was never good at keeping up with royal babies”.

Just then Mr Gorton came out of his office, and said, “Mrs Pelham, if you're ready now? And this handsome young man must be your grandson”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nursery rhymes Vince recalls are just ''Which is the Way to London Town?“, and ''London Bridge is Falling Down“, with Camden replacing London.
> 
> The first omnibuses were pulled by horses, although we would probably call such a conveyance a charabanc. In the story, they are like modern buses with designated stops and a pre-planned route: originally they were more like shared taxis that took passengers wherever they wanted to go.
> 
> Pear drop: an old fashioned boiled sweet shaped like a pear, and with pear and banana flavouring.
> 
> Vince's childhood home is around 20 miles directly south of the capital city, equivalent to the Surrey Hills in our world. The bus route vaguely corresponds to the road from Godstone to London in our world, with Blackleech around where Croydon is. 
> 
> Sudforth: the equivalent of Southwark. Sudforth means ''south fort“, similar to Southwark's original name.
> 
> Tayo: an ancient Celtic root meaning ''melting, flowing“. One theory is that this is related to the name of the Thames, and other rivers, such as the Tamar, and that such names were chosen for rivers with muddy waters, as the dirt seems to melt into the water.
> 
> London was once a walled city (some of the wall is still visible). There is a legend that the city had seven gates, but that's not true. I'm not sure if Aldgate ("east gate") was really the main gate, but its opposite, Ludgate, can be translated as ''back gate'', which suggests Aldgate was the front gate. Palace Gate is the equivalent of the Tower Gate, and this really was for foot-traffic only. Unlike with London, the city isn't right on the river, and there seems to be a little gap between them, at least where the bridge is, where omnibuses can drop people off.
> 
> Dalston Palace is a rough equivalent to the Tower of London, which was originally built as a residential palace for the royal family by William the Conqueror. But I've thrown in bits from heaps of other palaces, and it's mostly imaginary. 
> 
> Camden's flag is the flag for the county of Kent in our world, once the kingdom of Kent. The horse is supposedly in honour of Horsa, the legendary Jute who founded the kingdom in the 5th century. Kent claims the honour of never having been conquered, William the Conqueror having been scared off when he tried it, so it seemed like a good flag for an alternative England (or at least, southern and possibly middle England). As with Buckingham Palace, the flag flies when the monarch is at home.
> 
> Mr Gorton is named after William Gorton, a real Clerk of the Kitchen at Kew Palace under George III.
> 
> Julian Barratt's surname is Pettifer, which translates as ''iron foot'', perhaps to mean someone who could keep going tirelessly, or had an artificial foot. I made King Peter fit both meanings. 
> 
> Everwick: The Norman name for the city of York. Its symbols include the yew tree, and the white rose. Symbols of England include the oak tree, and the red rose.


	6. Dalston Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince's life at Dalston Palace and around Camden Town. Granny Pelham gives Vince a prophecy and a cautionary tale, before the crunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to blackmountainbones for the discussions about fixed stars and traditional astrology.

Vince now embarked on a new chapter of his life, and in retrospect, one of the happiest parts of his childhood. Granny Pelham had been given a very big room, painted cream with pale green soft furnishings. There was a little desk for her to write at, and a sewing machine in case she needed to sew, and a sofa and two armchairs with a tea table, and a kitchenette to make tea and prepare basic meals, and a tiny bathroom attached, which was indeed the height of modernity. Everything was perfectly plain and simple, but also neat and charming.

There was only one bed, but it was a double, and as Granny said, Vince was like a little twig, while she was barely larger than a child herself. They went to bed early, and Vince quickly learned he had to keep to his own side and not wriggle around, because that kept Granny awake. He also had to learn to sleep through her snoring. By morning, the two of them would have rolled together into the middle of the bed where it was warm, and Vince often woke to find he had been nestled into Granny's side.

''Ah, look at you, stealing my heat!“, Granny would say, but Vince somehow knew she wasn't really cross with him. He would always jump out of bed, open the curtains, and make them a cup of tea while Granny washed, got into her uniform, and put a cap over her hair to keep it tidy. Then she had to dash down to the kitchens, where at some point breakfast would be served to the staff.

Left alone, Vince would eat a crust of bread and jam with his tea, get dressed, and then clean and tidy their room until it shone. It was so much easier keeping one room clean compared to an entire house that it barely seemed like a chore. He would also make his way to the big gleaming white kitchens, and ask if there were any little tasks he could do. Once he'd been proven trustworthy, he was often asked to nip out to the markets and buy fresh vegetables and fruit for the palace. The first time he did so, he proved his lack of experience with city shopping.

''A copper coin for _each_ carrot?“, shouted Senor Montez, the head cook, in furious disbelief. ''How much were they asking?“.

''A copper coin each“, said Vince, wide-eyed at how much trouble he'd caused.

''Heavens above, boy! You don't give market traders the price they ask. That's for tourists and bumpkins. You haggle them down until they say something reasonable. You shouldn't have paid more than a copperworth for the whole bunch. That's coming out of your Granny's wages.“

That was the worst punishment he could have given Vince, who determined to learn city ways very quickly. He was a fast learner, and soon was able to haggle with the best of them, hardening his heart when the market traders cried that they would be ruined, because he knew that was the point that meant he was coming near to a fair price.

Vince was canny enough to make sure he ran plenty of errands for the kitchen close to midday, because that was usually enough to ensure that he was given dinner in the staff dining room, which meant a good solid main meal every day. The food was always excellent – one of the advantages of working in a palace.

In the afternoons, Vince was free to wander the streets and find his way around Camden Town. There were always things happening, whether it was street entertainers such as puppeteers and magicians, vendors selling toys and jewellery on the pavement, or people arriving from the Far East, dressed in gorgeous robes. He encountered children playing in the streets and lanes, and they were almost the strangest of all, because he had spent most of his time with adults.

The first time he had seen some boys kicking a ball to each other, he had watched until someone kicked the ball too far, and Vince ran and caught it.

''Yah, get orf our ball“, the biggest boy said.

''I was going to give it back“, Vince said, throwing it to the boy.

''Ooh, hark at how he do talk!“, jeered the boy, hearing Vince's country gentleman accent. ''Ai say, where yoo from?“.

''From Cronkshaw Manor, near Welkin“, said Vince, who was used to seeing his old address on letters. ''But we live at the palace now“.

''You never! Filthy liar“, said the boy in outrage. ''You ain't posh enough to live with the king“.

''I don't lie“, said Vince, grandly. ''A true gentleman never does. And I don't live with the king, but with my granny“.

''Cronkshaw, plonk for sure, who has a face that can't be cured?“, chanted a small comedian.

''Yah, look at that big nose“, agreed the big boy. ''Yoo ain't harf ugly, Pointy Face“.

''Pointy Face, Pointy Face, ugliest of the yuman race“, sang a sort of Greek chorus to the main action.

Vince was genuinely stung by these insults. He was used to being told he was a handsome little chap, and his parents had always said that their long noses were a sign of noble blood.

''You take that back! I'm not ugly! And you're a pack of pipsqueak pirates, a bunch of back alley brats!“, shouted Vince, unleashing some of the insults market traders had used on him since he got good at haggling them down.

''I'm pulling that long nose of yours“, said the big boy, making good on his threat immediately.

Vince kicked him in the shins, the big boy punched him, Vince tugged viciously at his hair, and in a few moments they were brawling in the street.

''Hey, you boys! Stop fighting!“, shouted a man selling hot baked potatoes from a cart. He came over and separated Vince and the big boy, and told them they were a pair of little ragamuffins, and that he'd tell their parents if he got a chance.

''Yah, stupid old spud face“, said the big boy grouchily when the man had left. ''They're always interfering in our games. Yoo wanna kick the ball with us?“.

''Yeah, alright“, said Vince. ''I'm Vince, by the way“.

''Leroy“, said the big boy, shaking hands. 'And that's Nick, Carlos, Pat, and Baz“.

Vince was soon kicking the ball with the other boys, and proved to be very skilful, which gained him instant respect. At the end of the game, the other boys trailed after him to see where he went, and gaped when he went into Dalston Palace, having a quick word with the guard at the side door before slipping in.

''Blimey“, said Leroy eloquently. ''I reckon Pointy Face is proper posh after all“.

After this Vince often hung out with Leroy and his gang. They kicked balls to each other, and ran races, and played games such as tig, marbles, base ball, and High Jimmy Knacker. They also got up to a certain amount of boyish mischief, which usually ended with them having to run away very fast from whatever they'd done.

At the very least, it did Vince good to run and play outdoors through the spring and summer, and the other boys managed to thicken Vince's skin and sharpen his wits, so that he became bolder and wilier to meet the challenges of city life.

However, the best afternoon of all was when he saw a handbill advertising _A Free Poetic Recitation by the Gothic Poet, Mr Robert Smith. To be held at The White Horse Inn on Dock Street, 4 o'clock of the afternoon, 6th of April_.

It was nearly four in the afternoon when Vince saw the handbill pasted on a wall, and rushed down the steep hill, over Battle Bridge, until he reached The White Horse Inn. He waited a few minutes until he caught his breath, because it would be so undignified to see Mr Robert Smith while puffing and panting, and then quietly walked in, finding a seat at the back of the dimly-lit inn, which was filled with gloomily-dressed poetry fans. Vince was glad to be wearing his black velvet suit.

Mr Robert Smith was already on stage, and looking suitably poetic. His face was painted white, his lips red. He had a shock of tortured-looking raven-black hair, and heavy dark smudges drawn under his eyes, as if he stayed up late every night, feverishly writing poems. Mr Robert Smith wore black trousers, a loose black tunic cinched with a loose studded black belt over his hips, and an over-sized black coat, along with big black leather boots.

He moved his hands, his face, and his entire body in agonised motions that suggested great pain, great suffering, and declaimed his works in miserable accents.

_For how much longer_  
_Can I cry like this?_  
_A thousand wasted hours a day_  
_Just to feel my heart for a second_  
_A thousand hours just thrown away_  
_Just to feel my heart for a second_  
_For how much longer can I howl into this wind?_

It was beautiful: it was tragic: it said everything that was in Vince's heart: it spoke for all the tears he had that remained unshed. He clapped, trying not to seem too excited and happy, as that would ruin the mood.

He listened to nearly an hour of poetry, enthralled, and then the recitation was over. Mr Robert Smith came off stage, and was immediately swamped by fans. Vince felt annoyed – they were crowding him, they should give him some space.

And then somehow it was his turn, and Mr Robert Smith was giving him a mournful smile, and asking if he'd like an autograph. Vince took his poetry book out of his pocket with trembling hands, explaining that he carried it around always, and then his book was inscribed: _To Vince, my smallest devotee, but not the least of them_. And then a squiggle which seemed to mean _Robert Smith_ or perhaps _R Smith_.

Mr Robert Smith briefly clasped his hand before he walked away. His hand was very white, and extremely soft. Vince didn't think he'd ever wash his hand again. It had been consecrated by The Spirit of Poetry itself.

*****************************************

Granny Pelham was in a tizzy. She'd immediately felt the pressure of being back in the palace kitchen, and expected to make sweet dishes that were literally fit for a king. She knew there was a buzz of gossip that she was too old, past it, not up to it now, and that just made her try all the harder.

So far, everything seemed to be satisfactory, but now the Spring Festival approached, and Granny Pelham had to go all out to impress. There was a midday dinner party for the court, which wasn't too difficult: Senor Montez was making nettle soup, spinach souffles, fried trout, green salads, roast lamb, and spring vegetables. Granny had planned lemon cheesecakes for pudding in fluted pastry shells, decorated with sugared primroses, and topped with whipped cream. It was a huge number of people, and everything had to be perfect, but as far as baking went, it was a bit of a doddle.

The part of the Spring Festival that had got her in a tizzy was that there was going to be a children's party on the east lawn of Dalston Palace, and afterwards little Princess Matilda would be hosting her first tea party for her friends, and the children of the court. The food had to be spectacular, it had to fit the theme of the festival, and at the same time, must be such that children would love eating it. Given how fussy children can be, and how they would already be tired and fretful from playing and dancing on the lawn, Granny could see dozens of reasons why things might go horribly wrong, and she would bear the blame for them.

Vince did everything he could to soothe her, and willingly allowed himself to be used as a guinea pig, enthusiastically giving his assent to all the party food. Nevertheless, Granny was pulled as tight as a fiddle string, and had trouble getting to sleep at night, while her dreams mostly involved one culinary disaster after another.

At last the dreaded day arrived, everyone was up before dawn, and Vince was roped in to help with all the extra work. He wasn't allowed to prepare food, but he washed dishes, arranged flowers, set tables, folded linen napkins, acted as a message boy, and put little decorated cards next to everyone's plate. He tried not to feel resentful that other children were, at the same time, hunting for decorated eggs and making spring baskets filled with wildflowers. He told himself that the work he was doing was far more interesting than dancing with little girls or playing party games.

A maidservant told Vince that the tea party was all set up, and he could have a peek before the children came in. The room had dozens of little tables, set with crisp white linen and delicate porcelain with floral designs, every table laden with lilies, anemones, daffodils, and marsh marigolds. Each child's name card was adorned with a dainty picture of a spring flower, or a spring baby animal such as a lamb or a chick, and every child had a little basket to take home filled with lilac-coloured egg-shaped sugar candies.

On the table were plates of egg sandwiches, ham sandwiches, curd tarts to represent maidenhood, apricot jam tarts to represent the rising sun, currant buns shaped like hares, spiced biscuits shaped like lambs covered in fluffy white icing, and banana fairy cakes made to look like chicks with their wings out. The centrepiece was a massive chocolate cake filled with cream, decorated with suagared violets, and with a solid chocolate egg for each slice of the cake. The base of the cake was on a platter of what looked hay, but was really spun sugar, with little yellow marzipan chicks hatching from white marzipan eggs.

Vince looked a moment too long, and the children arrived, with Princess Matilda leading the way. She was no longer a chubby toddler, but a slim maiden a year or two younger than Vince, already taller than many of the other girls and a few of the boys, and her expression far more sober than that of her portrait. Like all the other girls, she was wearing a white lace dress with a gold sash, while the boys were dressed in gold suits with crisp white shirts. There was really too much white all around for a children's party, and the laundry would be kept busy getting grass stains and chocolate off these pretty outfits.

''Hist, away with you“, whispered the maidservant when she saw Vince still had his head around the door. ''You mustn't be seen“.

Vince vanished, but he was able to report back to Granny Pelham that everything looked beautiful for the party, the children't didn't seem tired or fretful in the least but content and with good appetite from their play, and the food was mouth-watering.

That evening, as Granny lay recovering on the sofa with a cold washcloth on her forehead, Vince said thoughtfully:

''Granny, I think Princess Matilda is the prettiest girl I've ever seen. She is tall and slender, and has long golden hair that goes right down her back in waves, and big brown eyes like a deer“.

''Well, you can see all you want, but a princess is not for the likes of you“, Granny replied, a bit snappishly because she was very tired.

''I _know_ that, Granny“, said Vince patiently. ''Only … do you think if I'd had a little sister, she would have looked that pretty?“.

''Oh laddie, your sister would nay have been tall, but a wee fairy with flaxen hair and eyes the colour of harebells. She would have been very pretty, and very precious, and your nose would have been put out of joint soon enough with all the petting she received“.

''Could you … could you have taken both of us to Camden Town? I mean, when the time came?“.

Granny Pelham looked sad. ''I couldn't have, laddie. Mr Gorton would never have let me have two children in here. It would have broke my heart in half, but one of you would have had to go to an orphanage in Camden Town where we could visit“.

Vince realised that it would have been him, since he was older and a boy, and a boy must always protect his little sister.

''Well, perhaps it's a good thing I didn't have a sister then“, Vince admitted. ''But if things had been different, I would have loved one like you said, a tiny little fairy princess with big blue eyes. I would have taken care of her, and taught her to ride, and made her dresses, and carried her everywhere, and all my games would have been for two people“.

He waited for Granny Pelham to say something, but the poor old woman had fallen asleep on the sofa, worn out from all the work she'd had to do.

Granny only felt pleased about the Spring Festival when she received a handwritten note in her pigeon hole a week or so later, stamped with the royal seal.

_Dear Mrs Pelham,_

_Thank you so much for my lovely tea party you made for the Spring Festival. Everyone loved the scrummy food, especially the chocolate cake. It was absolutely super, and Daddy says I am very lucky. You are a jolly wiz of a cook, and I wish I could give you a gold medal, only Daddy said I was too young to give out medals, and was being very silly. I will give you a medal when I am big._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Matilda_  
_HRH Princess Royal_

''Bless the wee lassie“, said Granny Pelham, stroking the paper and marvelling at how thick and satiny it felt between her fingers. She carefully put the letter away in a wooden box which held all her personal treasures.

*********************************************

Granny Pelham had enough pay now to be able to give Vince pocket money each week. When he went to the markets, he looked for traders selling fabrics, and haggled to buy rolls of cotton, linen, and silk. Then he was able to use the sewing machine to make new clothes for himself and Granny – still in black, because although the mourning period for Vince's mother had passed, they were still in mourning for Vince's father. If he had lived, Vince and Granny Pelham would have been in a dreadful state by now, but as Vince said, they were mourning the man he might have been.

Mr Gorton and the housekeeper, Mme Blanchard, had their own parlour, and in the evenings they would invite the more superior servants to join them for a pot of tea, and perhaps a game of cards. Mrs Pelham was often invited, in deference to her age, and was proud to be able to show herself in her simple black silk dress, her white hair twisted into a neat bun.

On the evenings Mrs Pelham was out, Vince designed clothes in his sketchbook, or drew pictures, because they sold art supplies at the markets too. He often took his sketchbook out around Camden Town to draw the castle, temples, brooks, bridges, streetscapes, and the crowds walking by him. Passers by were quite interested to see his work, and once a man peered at a painting he was doing, and said, ''Extraordinary. I'll give you a silver coin for that''.

After that, Vince often sold his work on the street, and easily found buyers for it. Most of the money he made was used to buy more art supplies. He wasn't making much of a profit, but he hoped that one day he could make enough money from his art to be able to purchase an apprenticeship in tailoring, and make clothes for a living. Then he could support Granny in her old age, and she could finally have a rest.

It was clear that working in the kitchen was taking its toll on Granny. She was exhausted by the end of each day, and began to complain that she ached in winter, even though the palace was well heated, and Vince always tucked extra blankets over her, and rubbed her bony hands and feet to warm them as best he could. Granny Pelham sometimes spent her day off in bed, recovering from the week in order to get through another, and Vince had to stay mousy quiet while she slept.

''The spring gets into my old bones“, she said one evening about a year after they had come to Camden Town. ''I've never felt the same since I passed ninety“.

'''Ninety? How old _are_ you, Granny?“, Vince asked.

''I'm as old as my head, and a bit older than my hair“, said Granny, pursing her lips. ''And in future, remember a gentleman never asks a lady her age“.

''I'm sorry, Granny“, said Vince.

''Ah, you're a good lad“, said Granny, ''and getting to be so nice looking. I tell you laddie, there's many a fine lady – aye, and many a fine gentleman too – who will want you when you're a bit older. But mark me well. Those people will offer you gifts in exchange for a single night, but never be tempted by that, my laddie“.

''Why's that, Granny?“.

''You hold out for a promise of something more lasting“, said Granny solemnly. ''For at the hour you were born, The Shepherd and The Maiden were both rising over the horizon, and that's a sure sign you will meet your true love one day“.

''How do you know that?“, asked Vince. ''Were you there when I was born?“.

''Bless you, I was the one who _delivered_ you!“, said Granny Pelham. ''And I looked into the sky and saw the great twin stars of double fortune beginning to rise, that told me that one day you and your true love would be joined in holy union. But only if you had kept your body pure for them – even your lips must never touch someone who isn't your true love“.

''But Granny, I kiss you on the cheek“, said a puzzled Vince.

''Oh laddie, I'm not talking about giving your old Granny a peck on the cheek, or greeting a dear friend with a kiss, or kissing the hand of a lady you've been introduced to“, said Granny Pelham, vexed with herself that she'd introduced a topic that Vince was too innocent for. ''It's a special kind of intimate kiss on the lips“.

''Like Papa gave Mama sometimes?“, said Vince, beginning to understand.

''Exactly so“, said a relieved Granny Pelham. ''And you may think Granny is a mite too old-fashioned, but laddie, I know what happened to a girl named Agnes McGinty. Oh, she was the prettiest thing”.

“Prettier than Mama?”, asked Vince jealously.

“Oh laddie, your Ma was a lovely lady, fair as a lily. But Agnes was a wild rose, bonny and pink-cheeked, with red lips, and a smile filled with mischief that drove men mad. She had the pick of any man she wanted, but the men she chose didn't treat her with kindness. Oh, they showered her with silver and gold and jewels and fine clothes, but she had nothing to show for it, in the end”.

“Granny … is your name Agnes?”, asked Vince with big eyes.

“Bless you laddie, I was never much to look at, that's why I had to learn to cook and clean”, said Granny Pelham. “No, I was only plain old Morag Campbell. Agnes was my sister – at least, her mother was my father's second wife. Agnes was just a wee bairn when her Dadda, Dougal McGinty, passed away, and not much more when her mother remarried. I was ten years or more older than she. But I loved her dearly, laddie, and it broke my heart seeing how she was used. They passed her around, from one to another, as if she was nothing”.

Granny Pelham dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and went on. “The thing you have to understand is that not one of those men loved my Agnes. Can you fathom that? A girl pretty as a rose and as warm as summer, and yet the only person who ever cared for her was her ugly stepsister. She came to a bad end, poor Agnes, but if she'd only kept her lips for her true love, the twin stars would have brought her happiness to the close of her days”.

“Is Agnes … dead?”.

“Aye, for many a year”, sighed Granny Pelham, wiping her eyes. “And there's not a day goes past that I don't miss her”.

“But you married Mr Pelham?”, Vince prodded.

“Yes I did, bless his soul. And you'll never hear me say a word against him”, said Granny Pelham virtuously. But as she never said a word in his favour either, or anything about him, I cannot tell you whether he was old, young, handsome, plain, rich, poor, good, bad, or indifferent. He married a woman named Morag Campbell, and he died, and that is the biography of Mr Pelham.

*********************************************

The morning after Granny Pelham had told Vince the story of Agnes, he woke up and found Granny cold in their bed. Thinking she needed another blanket and a hot cup of tea, he tried to rouse her, until he realised with horror she had died in her sleep. It had always been Granny Pelham who had come to him with news of death, and made all the arrangements, and now it was his turn.

He didn't dare wake up Mr Gorton or Mme Blanchard, but he timidly knocked on the door next to his own, which was that of Mrs Talbot, Mme Blanchard's assistant. She answered the door wearing a quilted dressing gown, her grey hair loose and not yet pinned into a bun for the day.

“Mrs Talbot, I think Granny is dead”, Vince gasped out.

Mrs Talbot came and examined Granny Pelham, and covered her in a plain white sheet, telling Vince not to fret himself. She called both Mr Gorton and Mme Blanchard, and the latter said she would take care of the funeral arrangements.

Mr Gorton looked at Vince, who was terrified, with tear-streaked cheeks.

“You can stay here until the funeral, Vince. We're not going to turn you out before poor Mrs Pelham is in her grave. And I will call the palace lawyers to look into your grandmother's affairs. She may have left you well provided for, or there may be instructions on who is to be your guardian now”.

The day that Vince went to see Granny Pelham buried in the plot for palace servants, it rained. Vince thought Granny would be pleased, for she always said happy is the corpse rained upon, the tears of heaven helping to wash away the tears of the mourners all the faster. He was in the room, rubbing his wet hair with a towel, when Mr Gorton arrived with two solicitors: Mr Snatch, and Mr Grabbem.

“Now, Mrs Pelham left all her worldly possessions to her grandson, Vince Noir”, announced Mr Snatch, “and she had managed to amass a goodly amount. Not a fortune, by any means”. Here he gave Vince an accusing look, as if he suspected him of expecting millions.

“No, not a fortune”, agreed Mr Grabbem. “But more than two hundred gold coins, held in the Bank of Camden on Broad Street. Enough for a boy such as yourself to set himself up with an apprenticeship, and perhaps hire rooms in a respectable boarding house”.

“Mrs Kipling has an excellent one on Great Temple Street”, interjected Mr Gorton.

“The trouble is with the wording of Mrs Pelham's will”, said Mr Snatch with a thoughtful expression. “She says she leaves all to her grandson, but our investigations have shown that Mrs Pelham never had a grandson”.

“She told me that Vince was her grandson by adoption”, Mr Gorton said. “The son of her adopted daughter”.

“Can you produce your mother's adoption papers?”, Mr Grabbem asked Vince.

He shook his head. “No. After my parents died, Granny said to tell people I was her grandson, in case anyone tried to take me away from her”.

“Oh dear”, said Mr Snatch silkily.

“Looks like a clear cut case of child kidnap and fraud to me”, said Mr Grabbem.

“I promise you I had no idea”, said Mr Gorton, looking shocked and self-righteous. “I took Mrs Pelham at her word, otherwise I would never have permitted her to have this boy live here”.

“I think Granny really did think of me as her grandson”, Vince said in her defence.

“Oh dear”, said Mr Snatch sadly.

“It looks very much as if this boy took advantage of an elderly woman going weak in the head as she aged, and convinced her he was her grandson in order to get his hands on her money”, said Mr Grabbem. “We could prosecute, and have him charged. A prison sentence is likely”.

Vince's face turned dead white, and he looked as if he might faint.

“That seems a bit harsh”, said Mr Gorton. “We've all grown fond of Vince here. I could offer him a job in the palace kitchens as a cinder boy. Do you think you could take care of the fires, day and night, Vince? Make sure they never go out?”.

“Yes, sir”, said Vince. “Would I … have a room at the palace?”.

“Dear me, no”, said Mr Gorton. “Cinder boys sleep in the kitchen, as they need to tend the fire every hour of the day and night”.

“Do I get paid?”, asked Vince dolefully.

“Twelve copper coins a year”, said Mr Gorton. “But with prospects for advancement. If you were promoted to pot boy, you would receive substantially more, and be given a room. Shared with others, of course. And all your meals are supplied”.

“Well, if everyone is satisfied with that, we'll be on our way”, said Mr Snatch. There was no need to send Vince to prison if he was to be useful to the palace.

“What happens to Granny's money?”, asked Vince. “I mean, if I don't get it, where does it go?”.

“As an unclaimed estate, it will go to the Palace Treasury”, replied Mr Grabbem. “Once we have deducted our fees, that is”.

Vince reflected that two hundred gold coins would make almost no difference to the palace, and yet it was enough to completely change his life, and give him a future. Now he had nothing, not even a bed for the night, and almost no hope that things would ever change.

Vince quickly learned to hate the heat of the kitchen, being constantly covered in ash, his hair and skin often singed from the fire. He tried not to cry himself to sleep at night, because Granny Pelham had always told him that would spoil his pretty eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Pelham's room (a maisonette really) at the palace is vaguely based on staff quarters from Victorian times at Kew Palace, then given an upgrade. The modernity of the bathroom is left purposely vague, so you can imagine whatever you like. I imagine it being based on Roman plumbing, which was quite good if you were rich, and allowed hot water for washing all day, heated floors, baths, and flushing toilets for good sanitation. In my mind, the rich have more or less modern plumbing, and the lower middle classes and skilled tradespeople of Camden Town adequate plumbing and sanitation, although I expect a flood or particularly hot humid weather could still cause problems with disease. (And like our world today, very cold weather would freeze pipes.) The poor would have to use communal toilets, laundries, and bath houses, and the very poor, such as homeless and beggars, might have nothing (as in our world).
> 
> Cronkshaw means “crow woods”, in line with the bird names in Vince's family. It has the same meaning as Crowhurst in Surrey, which is near to Godstone. Vince's childhood home is based on Crowhurst Place, the home of the Gaynesford family for many years. Godstone's original name was based on the word “welkin”, which means “sky, cloud”. 
> 
> The games Vince plays with Leroy's gang include tig, an old word for tag; base ball, which is the original name for rounders; and High Jimmy Knacker, an East London name for High Cockalorum, the original name for leapfrog. 
> 
> The White Horse Inn in Dock Street is vaguely based on The Cock Tavern in Fleet Street, frequented by writers for many centuries. In times past, Fleet Street ended at the docks. Battle Bridge was once where King's Cross is now – I imagined a picturesque London where the all the rivers, streams and brooks are still present, covered by bridges or aqueducts, and not forced underground to become sewers, as they are now. 
> 
> The Gothic poem by Mr Robert Smith is “A Thousand Wasted Hours” by The Cure (1987). 
> 
> The Spring Festival is based on pre-Christian and secular traditions of Easter. Easter literally means “dawn”, so the children wear gold to symbolise the sun, while white dresses for little girls to symbolise purity have been a theme of Easter and other spring festivals since the Dark Ages.
> 
> Mrs Pelham's longevity and hardy old age are based on some of my female relatives who had long lifespans. One great-aunt who lived to 107 was still doing childcare, shopping, housework, gardening, chopping wood, and cooking vast dinner parties at the age of 99, while another great-aunt said she only began to feel the effects of illness or old age after her 90th birthday (despite having twice had cancer). Like Mrs Pelham, this great-aunt was tiny, and childless. Agnes McGinty is named after my grandmother. Photos of her in youth show her to be absolutely gorgeous, with a voluptuous yet elegant figure. I always thought in a book or film, she would be cast as the femme fatale or sexy promiscuous woman, rather than the respectable and rather dour widow she actually was. All these ladies were sisters from the Scottish side of my family.
> 
> The Shepherd and The Maiden are loosely based on the stars Arcturus and Spica. In ancient astrology, they are considered to be lucky stars, but the astrology in the story is very much fictional, and for the purposes of creating a fairy-tale style prophecy and warning. 
> 
> The fact that Granny Pelham mentions kissing a friend as another sort of common non-romantic kiss suggests that in Camden, it is normal to greet friends, regardless of gender, with a kiss on the cheek. I can feel a Roman influence here, like the plumbing. (Social kissing has gone in and out of fashion, mostly out, and is now back in).
> 
> Broad Street is the original name for Threadneedle Street, where stands the Bank of England in our world. Great Temple Street is the equivalent of Walbrook off Cannon Street, which in Roman times had a temple to the mystery god Mithras – I think the only Roman temple which has been definitely confirmed in London. 
> 
> It was not necessary for me to imagine a dystopian medieval/Dickensian alternate reality where a ten year old can get sent to prison: that is the current minimum age for imprisonment in the UK. But if you ask me, the whole thing was cooked up to frighten Vince into working for the palace for almost nothing. We already know a bunch of carrots costs one copper coin, so comparing that with the price of carrots in Tesco, Vince's starting salary is the equivalent of around £12 per year (plus free rent, utilities, food, and clothing).
> 
> The jobs of “cinder boy” and “pot boy” are made up for the story, as sounding particularly lowly and menial. They are based on the sort of work young boys would be given in a medieval kitchen – tending the fire, washing up, and running errands.


	7. Parsley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince meets a mysterious stranger in the palace stables.

When Vince was a still just a boy, he had once been beaten for stealing a piece of cake from the kitchens, and had run away to the stables to tell the horses about his problems. A tall young nobleman with untidy brown hair had come in to groom his horse, and found Vince whispering sadly in its ear.

"Hey, what's wrong, little man?", said the young nobleman kindly. "You've been crying".

Vince wiped his eyes and looked cross at being being found in his hiding place.

"I got a good kicking from the second assistant cook, but I'm not a thief", he said, his lower lip wobbling. "I was hungry, and I never get to eat cake, and they always make loads and loads for tea at the palace, and I bet they don't even eat them all".

"You're right kiddo, they don't", admitted the young man. "Most of them are on the GI Diet. Here, I've got some chocolate biscuits in the pocket of my cloak. Do you want one?".

Vince ate all the biscuits, which had a pleasant tweedy flavour from being kept in a pocket, and then the young man found that he had a banana in the other pocket, and Vince ate that as well. He wasn't starved, but he never got quite enough to eat either, and devoured the food with urgency.

"Do you like horses?", asked the young man, brushing down his white steed.

"Yes sir, they always make me feel better", said Vince, watching the man, and noticing that he was very careful and gentle with the horse, but touched it firmly so that the horse didn't get nervous and skittish. "Horses say such sensible things when you feel sad".

"You can understand the speech of animals, then?", asked the man in an interested way, and it was clear that he immediately believed Vince.

"Yes sir, I always have been able to", said Vince.

"Well, that's a remarkable gift", said the man thoughtfully. "I'm just off for a ride. Would you like to come with me, and tell me what my horse thinks about things?".

Vince gave the man a grin, and as soon he'd saddled and bridled his horse, the man mounted, then lifted Vince up so that the boy was just in front of him.

"Feel okay, there?", asked the man, and when Vince nodded, he put one arm around him to keep him safe, and wrapped his cloak around them both before they went cantering out of the stable yard.

They had ridden right to the edge of the forest, and the man told Vince about the deer who could be found there, and how, if you were very quiet, little rabbits would come up to you and hop quite nearby. And in the spring, there were carpets of bluebells that smelt like heaven.

Vince eagerly said that he had talked to deer and bunnies when he was little, and how he would like to meet some again. The young nobleman smiled uncomfortably, and didn't say that he had often hunted the deer and rabbits.

"So what does Arran think about me, then?", the man asked Vince.

Vince had a brief conversation with the horse they were riding.

"He says you are a kind master, and there's plenty to eat, but you never bring enough sugar lumps with you", he answered solemnly. "And he says you have good hands when you ride, but your seat needs improving. He can really feel you come down on him when he gallops".

"No man is a hero to his valet – or his horse", chuckled the nobleman, his little brown eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.

"What's a ... a vallit?", asked Vince in puzzlement.

"A valet? It is a manservant who cares for a gentleman's clothes and shoes, and makes sure he always looks nice", explained the nobleman. "He cuts his hair, shaves him, puts lotion on his skin, runs his bath, things like that".

"Is it a good job, being a valet?", Vince asked curiously.

"Oh yes, valets are well paid and highly regarded at the palace", the nobleman said. "We call a valet _the gentleman's gentleman_ ".

"Do you have a valet?", asked Vince. "Because he hasn't done your hair at all".

"I'm sort of between valets at the moment", said the nobleman with a an embarrassed smile. "The truth is, none of them can stand my ways, and they soon get sick of my temper, and head out the door to valet for someone else".

"You don't seem like you have a temper", said Vince, for the young man had been nothing but kind to him.

"Well, I do", the man said shortly. "I'm a rough, surly bear with a sore head who snarls like a wolf. I hate being fussed over and made to look smooth and pretty, it makes me nervous. And I have no patience when things aren't done exactly as I please".

"Why did your last valet leave?", Vince wanted to know.

"He ruined one of my shirts in the wash, and I blew up at him, and he cried, and said he couldn't take another minute of my spoiled tantrums", the nobleman confessed honestly.

"Could I be your valet?", asked Vince. "I love clothes, and keeping things nice".

"Why, didn't I just say I'm unbearable to work for?", the man said with a grin. It was a grin which went sideways, to Vince's fascination, and did make the man look rather wolfish.

"I wouldn't fuss over you or annoy you", Vince said in a wheedling tone. "I'd cut your hair while you were asleep. You wouldn't even know I was there".

"You're a bit on the young side, little man", smiled the nobleman. "And valets need to be trained".

"I'll start training now, so when I'm old enough I can be your valet", said Vince.

"People don't usually .... move from one part of the palace to another", the man said awkwardly.

A different sort of nobleman would have bluntly told Vince that kitchen brats don't get trained as valets, and cuffed him for his impertinence, but the young man shrank from hurting Vince. There was something so naive and fragile about him, but plucky too.

"If it's not usual, then it must happen sometimes", Vince said confidently. "And _then_ I can take care of you forever".

"Hey, do you want to go for a gallop?", the man asked Vince. "Let's see how fast Arran can go with two people, and if I can improve my seat".

Vince laughed, and then the young man held him tight as they took off, his strong arm securely around Vince lest he fall. They galloped for quite ten minutes, and then they trotted around the edge of the forest, which Vince knew was reserved for the sole use of the royal family. The man pointed out a roe deer amongst the trees, and Vince watched open-mouthed as the deer turned and ran, its white tail bobbing behind it.

They went back to the palace at a walking pace to let Arran cool down, but even so the man still kept his arm tight around the boy. Vince snuggled into the warmth of his body, for the day was chilly, and the tweed cloak very welcome. On the way back, the man told Vince funny stories to make him laugh, such as the time the prince had tripped on the stairs at an official function, and fallen right on top of the Queen of Norway.

"Oh no, the poor prince!", giggled Vince.

"Don't feel sorry for him – the man's an absolute fool", the nobleman said. "I shouldn't say this to anyone, so keep it under your hat, but the prince is a buffoon, quite unworthy to rule the kingdom".

"That's alright, we have King Peter anyway", Vince said.

"How his royal majesty had such an ill-favoured son I do not know", sighed the nobleman. "King Peter is a dignified, scholarly man, and yet look at the prince! An odd-looking, tattered, clumsy misfit. No wonder the king tries to keep him out of sight most of the time".

"I've seen paintings of the prince in the staff quarters", Vince said thoughtfully, "and in his pictures he looks very handsome and noble. Almost _too_ handsome – everything so perfect that no feature really stands out".

"Ha, royal portraits!", laughed the man. "They make everyone look the same. You wouldn't even recognise the prince from his official portraits. Now, I bet you're a good artist, aren't you?". And Vince forgot about royalty, and excitedly told the man how much he loved drawing and painting.

It was the happiest day of Vince's life at the palace, and he couldn't believe how kind the man had been to him – giving him biscuits and a banana, taking him for a ride on his own horse, and talking to him as if they were equals.

When the man brought him back to the stable, he carefully lifted Vince down, saying, "There you go, kiddo. Run back to the kitchens now, and try to be a good boy so you don't get beaten again. What's your name, anyway?".

"Obsidian", said Vince, who had been experimenting with changing his name, and thought this one sounded dark and mysterious. "What's yours?".

"Parsley", said the man with a grimace. "Silly sort of name, but I'm stuck with it, Obsidian".

"Can we go riding again tomorrow?", begged Vince, his big blue eyes as beseeching as he knew how.

"I'm sorry, Obsidian", said Parsley with genuine regret, "but I'm leaving for a diplomatic mission to Denmark tomorrow. I'll be gone for a while, otherwise I would have loved to take you out".

Vince waved goodbye to his new friend, who unfortunately was going away. It was a doomed friendship, Vince knew. Not only was Vince a boy and Parsley a grown man, but noblemen did not make friends with servants. If they were nice, they might treat a child with kindness, but if he and Parsley met as adults, he would be lucky to get even a polite smile from him.

Back in the kitchen, Vince started nosing around, asking if anyone knew of a young courtier named Sir Parsley or Lord Parsley who lived at the palace.

"There's no Parsley, and there's no Sage, Rosemary, or Thyme either!", said Senor Montez with a rough laugh at his own wit.

"Did you mean Basil?", said one of the kitchen wenches more kindly. "There's Sir Basil Overwatch, but he's terribly old, at least seventy".

"No, he's much younger than that – around seventeen or eighteen", insisted Vince.

"Vince has an imaginary friend", sneered someone, and soon he couldn't mention Parsley again, or everyone would say they were tired of his lies. Vince knew Parsley wasn't imaginary though – he could still taste the banana Parsley had given him, and he had white horse hairs on his clothes.

His one comfort amid all the teasing was that the second assistant cook was given the sack the next day, and when anyone asked why, the answer was, "The order came direct from the palace". Vince couldn't help thinking that Parsley might be responsible, and that perhaps it was best if nobody believed he existed.

Vince spent a lot of time thinking about Parsley, and how it had felt being held close to Parsley's body, with a strong arm around him. He had never felt more safe in his life, and he wished for Parsley to come back so they could go riding again before Vince was too old.

He slipped out to the stables whenever he could, but Arran was never there, and the other horses couldn't tell Vince where he had gone, or when he would be back. Time and geography were not in their vocabulary, and diplomatic missions a foreign concept. Horses can be trained for war, but not diplomacy.

Sometimes Vince daydreamed that he became Parsley's valet, so that he could spend all day with him – and all night too. He wouldn't mind taking care of Parsley's clothes and hair, running his bath, and rubbing lotion into his skin to keep it smooth. Despite the warnings of temper, he was sure Parsley was the kind of man who would treat his servant decently. Maybe Parsley would even let Vince sleep on his bed, curled up at the end like a faithful little dog.

That wasn't too much to hope for, was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arran: Parsley's horse seems to be named after the Scottish island in the Firth of Clyde. Its name is thought to come from the ancient British for "great, high" – a suitable name for a large horse.
> 
> No man is a hero ...: Commonly attributed to the 17th century French memoirist Mme de Cornuel. It is a matter of debate whether it means that servants are privy to a famous man's weaknesses, or are unable to comprehend his greatness.
> 
> vallit: Vince demonstrates the pronunciation of the word valet in use until a few decades ago, and still preferred by many.
> 
> kitchen brats don't get trained as valets: There were clear career paths in domestic life, and someone working in the kitchen probably wouldn't become a valet, although a footman might.


	8. The Godfather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince receives a shock when there is a guest and a homecoming at the palace. He's disappointed of a chance to meet one of his childhood idols at a palace entertainment, and everything is going wrong. Maybe it's time for his godfather to make an appearance ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating has changed to M because Vince is grown up now, and there's some adult themes and concepts.

The years went by, until Vince was close to his eighteenth birthday, and had been working in the palace kitchens for seven years. He had by now been promoted to Scullion First Class, with an annual wage of nine gold coins and nine silver coins, and slept in a dormitory with the other scullions. It had the same cream paint and pale green linen as the room he had shared with Granny Pelham, except that it was dirtier, smellier, and more scuffed. Staff were expected to keep their own rooms clean and tidy, and Vince was the only one who made any effort.

Vince had never managed to make a real friend in the kitchens, although he was friendly with most. Perhaps it was his unconscious air of being born for something better that held people back, or his flights of fancy that made him love poetry and art, or his faint aura of Gothic tragedy, despite his naturally sunny nature. Vince's lips smiled often, but in the depths of his blue eyes were dark shadows made of loss, heartbreak, and the theft of his dreams. He sought out animals for friendship, like the mice which inhabited the kitchen, his favourite of which was a white mouse named Gilbert.

Vince had never forgotten Parsley, despite not seeing him again. His childish fantasies of being allowed to sleep at the foot of Parsley's bed became gradually more mature, until he and Parsley were sharing the same bed, their bodies wrapped around each other all night. Vince was not innocent about what people did in bed together – life in the kitchens had taught him that much, at least.

He remembered one night a few years ago when the snoring of his bunk mate Ravi was so bad that he had gone to sleep in the common room that scullions shared with the kitchen wenches. Two wenches named Ursula and Niniane had been lying on a sofa together, kissing passionately, but when Vince came in they looked up and invited him to join them. He gave a shy shake of his head, though tempted, for Ursula and Niniane were pretty, but he remained faithful to the advice Granny Pelham had given him, to keep himself for his true love.

''We don't care, dandyprat. We can please each other well enough“, said blonde Ursula, returning to kissing dark-haired Niniane.

The wenches didn't tell Vince to go away, so he kept watching until a scullion named Johnny came in, and was likewise invited to join the two wenches. He enthusiastically assented, and Vince soon got a fairly good idea what people might choose to do together. He lay on the sofa opposite, his eyes open, and his hand between his legs.

''That creep-peeper is watching us“, complained Niniane, each of her breasts in a separate mouth.

''Let the little mollyflog have an eyeful“, said Johnny. ''It's the closest he's ever going to get to a wench“.

After that, Vince kept out of the common room at night, but one way or another, he saw enough around the castle to understand physical love. For that matter, he saw enough between his fellow scullions in the dormitory to get more than an inkling, so his fantasies about Parsley were fairly well-informed. There were times that he ached for Parsley, and many times that he told himself he was a fool to keep himself pure for someone he barely knew, who didn't even exist, according to everyone else.

Yet still he ached, and still he continued to heed the advice of Granny Pelham.

******************************************

There was an excited buzz around the castle, for it had been announced that the Prince of Camden was returning from abroad after many years spent in foreign climes, and that there would be a parade through the city to welcome him home. Furthermore, he would be accompanied by an honoured guest, his Russian third cousin, Dorothea of Gideon, and rumour had it that Princess Dorothea was to be his future bride.

Palace staff were allowed to attend the parade as long as their work schedule permitted it. Most of those in supervisory roles managed everyone's timetable so that even the busiest people could have at least ten minutes break. Vince was permitted half an hour off, and he made his way to the west lawn on Dalston Hill, as this would give a good view of the prince and princess approaching the palace, with no members of the general public allowed.

Vince was standing next to a palace seamstress called Bridget he was quite friendly with; she greeted him with a cheery, ''Hello, Vince. Come to see the parade?“. Bridget and her friend Sunniva gave a running commentary on what they could see, which Vince found a bit distracting.

An open golden carriage was being pulled by two white horses towards them down Upper Dalston Street. Vince peered at it carefully, but it only contained two women.

''That's the princess in the carriage“, said Sunniva knowledgeably. ''She's not very pretty, is she?“.

''No, and so sour and miserable looking“, said Bridget, rather disappointed. ''She should be happy she's getting to marry the heir to a lovely kingdom like Camden“.

Vince thought Princess Dorothea was slender and elegant, with her brown hair swept into a bun, and spectacles giving her a studious air, but she was by no means in the first flush of youth, and her aristocratic face was frozen into almost too obvious misery.

''Oh well, that's Russians, isn't it?“, said Sunniva tolerantly. ''They always look serious. I've heard she's very intellectual. Can speak dozens of languages, and reads hundreds of books a year“.

''Well, I'd prefer a wife that smiled a bit, myself“, said Bridget, ''wouldn't you, Vince?“.

Vince agreed that a smiling face is a nice thing to have in a spouse, before asking who the other person in the carriage was.

''I think that's her head lady-in-waiting, Lady Sybil Something-or-Other“, said Sunniva. Lady Sybil was holding the princess' elbow, and seemed to be trying to put some cheer into her.

'' _She's_ pretty“, said Bridget. ''And she's smiling as well. It's a shame the prince can't marry her instead“.

''Where's the prince?“, asked Vince. ''I've never even seen him before, except in pictures“.

''Really? Well, he's been gone for years and years“, said Bridget. ''I haven't seen him since he was a boy“.

''That's him“, said the eagle-eyed Sunniva. ''He's on a great white charger, riding a little way behind the carriage. He's waving to the people, and smiling. He looks glad to be home“.

Vince craned his neck to see who Sunniva meant, and then he stood there with his mouth hanging open. The man on the white horse was Parsley. He was taller, broader, and older, and he'd grown a moustache, but it was definitely Parsley.

The carriage swept through the palace gates, stopping for a moment to make an offering at the Wintertide Temple in Black Swan Court, and then the prince rode beside the carriage, speaking to Princess Dorothea in an intimate, and possibly soothing, sort of way. The princess looked slightly less miserable, but still did not smile.

There was then a rather touching reunion, as Princess Matilda came forward to greet her brother, who she hadn't seen since she was a child. The Princess Royal was now a tall, willowy young woman of seventeen, and betrothed to her first cousin, the heir to the throne of Spain. The prince and his sister embraced affectionately, and then walked hand in hand like two children into the palace, followed by Princess Dorothea and Lady Sybil.

There was a short military demonstration, and then the royal family appeared on the balcony with their guest to wave to the people, King Peter making a point of standing up for the entire time.

''Isn't Princess Matilda a beauty?“, said Bridget admiringly. ''She's got hair like spun gold, and that blue dress she has on is so stylish, with the little cape. I heard it's from Paris“.

''She went through a very awkward stage for a while, all gangly legs and big clumsy hands and feet, but she looks lovely now“, said Sunniva. If Vince had not been there, she would have said that the princess had finally developed a little bust, which made her dresses more flattering, but she didn't think it right to discuss busts in the company of a young man.

''So we finally have a beautiful princess, and now Spain's going to get her, while we end up with this sulky Russian one“, complained Bridget.

''I'm sure she'll cheer up in time, the prince seems very attentive to her“, said Sunniva comfortably. ''But we'd better get back to work, Bridget. We've got so much mending to get through“.

''How about you, Vince?“, asked Bridget, then she looked at him more closely. ''Vince? You're very pale. Are you sure you're alright? You don't look at all well“.

*********************************************

Vince now knew that he had no chance of ever talking to ''Parsley“ again, and that people had been right: he didn't exist. It had just been the prince, having a joke by giving himself a false name, and openly insulting himself so he could laugh about it later. It was something a young prince would find amusing, never thinking how his behaviour could have affected a sensitive child.

Vince berated himself for being a fool, pining after someone he didn't even know, for someone he had spent maybe an hour with, at most. He felt unaccountably depressed, as if he had lost something precious, when in fact he had never had anything at all. He did not realise that he had lost one of the most precious things of all – hope.

************************************************

The next exciting announcement at the palace was that there was to be a great spectacle one evening in the main courtyard to entertain the visiting Russian princess. It would end with a fireworks display, and once again, palace staff were allowed to attend.

Vince was really looking forward to it. He didn't want to see the prince, in fact that would be embarrassing, he told himself. But he had heard that The Amazing Sasha was to give a riding display, and he longed to see her perform again. No doubt she had an entirely new routine by now, and if he couldn't talk to her, he could at least have a note sent, telling her how much her performance had meant to a little boy from the country who loved horses.

''And you can see it all too, Gilbert“, Vince told his mouse friend. ''You can sit in my shirt pocket, and there'll be lots of dancers, and singers, and riders, and acrobats. You're going to love it, Gilbert“.

But when the evening came, Mr Gorton told Vince that he hadn't polished the silver correctly, and as punishment, he would have to do it all over again, plus clean out the kitchen cupboards and scrub the floor.

''But Mr Gorton, couldn't I do it tomorrow night? I'll miss the entertainment for the Russian princess“, Vince pleaded.

''That's part of your punishment“, said Mr Gorton. ''You cannot put one day's punishment off for a day that suits you. The kitchens are not run at your convenience“.

So when the evening came, Vince watched the rest of the staff leave for the courtyard, chattering excitedly under the watchful gaze of Mr Gorton and Mme Blanchard. His eyes filled with tears at missing out on one of the few opportunities for fun that staff were allowed, and the worst part was, he hadn't even cleaned the silver. He had swapped jobs with Johnny, but as that was strictly forbidden, telling Mr Gorton that would have only got him into worse trouble.

He listlessly got out the silver polish and cleaning cloths, but within a few minutes he was crying so hard he couldn't see what he was doing. Suddenly everything weighed upon his heart too heavily – this little disappointment became magnified by all that he had suffered, including the devastating realisation that he'd wasted years of his life longing for a man who turned out to be an unattainable prince, and who had doubtless never given him another thought. It felt as if he was inside one of Mr Robert Smith's poems about endless tears, awash in an ocean of pain, drowning in sorrow.

“Hey, cut out the waterworks, yeah?”, said a voice near him. It was a peculiarly flat voice, with a slight lisp to it, but unmistakably one from the streets of Camden Town.

“Who's there?”, Vince called out. “Show yourself, and do not hide in the shadows like a knave”.

“Bloody drama queen”, muttered the voice, but the person stepped forward so Vince could see them.

It was a young man, or perhaps even a boy, very short and thin. He had smooth black hair and a handsome, cynical face with dark eyes that looked centuries old, as if he had seen many kingdoms rise and fall in his time. His clothing was outlandish – a purple turban fastened with a great jewel, a purple and gold robe covered in Oriental pattern, and shoes with curly toes. It was if he had come from the far distant reaches of the Persian Empire, yet he spoke like a Camden Town guttersnipe.

“Who … who _are_ you?”, Vince gasped. “And _what_ are you?”.

“Name's Naboo”, said the strange figure laconically. “I'm a shaman. Your shaman godfather, as it happens”.

“My godfather?”, said Vince in disbelief. “You only look about twelve”.

“Keep myself in good shape”, said Naboo.

“And why do I have a _shaman_ godfather? Which one of my parents belonged to the Shaman Temple?”, Vince demanded.

“Neither of them”, said Naboo. “It was your guardian, Morag”.

“Granny Pelham?”.

“I don't know what name she might have used with you”, said Naboo wearily. “Little old woman, smaller than me, wrinkly brown face like a walnut, clever black eyes? Pictish accent, wears tartan, bakes pies, yeah? Ring any bells?”.

Vince nodded.

“Well, it was Morag who brought you into the world, yeah? And when you were born, she cast a charmed circle, summoning me by the sacred elements of Earth, Wind, and Fire, and laid upon me the burden of taking care of you should her guardianship ever fail”.

“Granny was a shaman?”, gasped Vince.

“Witch”, corrected Naboo. “You never figured it out? Healing arts, always out gathering herbs and mushrooms before the sun's rays hit them, planting the garden by the phases of the moon, muttering charms while she baked the bread, weather-working, reading the stars?”.

“I thought those were just country ways”, said Vince defensively. “And if you were meant to take care of me, why didn't you? Granny died years ago, and I was alone in the world before I turned eleven”.

“I had things on”, said Naboo airily. “And I checked up on you, and you lived in a palace. Figured you were doing alright”.

“I _work_ at the palace! I slept in the kitchen and got paid a few coppers a year!”, Vince said angrily.

“Nice secure job”, suggested Naboo. “Roof over your head, warm in winter, plenty of food in a kitchen. There's kids on the streets of Camden Town doing much, much worse”.

“Well, why have you come now, then?”, snapped Vince. “Since my life is so amazingly brilliant”.

“Heard you crying”, Naboo said. “Thought something might be wrong”.

“I've cried hundreds of times since Granny died!”, said Vince. “I've cried getting beaten, and burnt, and getting ash in my eyes, and dropping heavy things on my foot, and being sad, and all sorts of reasons”.

“Not like this”, said Naboo. “You were proper sobbing your eyes out. Weren't just a little sniffle, or a bit of a weep. So what's wrong?”.

Vince told him everything. Not just about having to miss the entertainment for someone else's poor workmanship, and wanting to see Sasha ride. He talked about how he had had the opportunity of buying an apprenticeship snatched away from him, how much he longed for his mother and granny, and his friend Finn. How Granny Pelham had told him he had to keep himself pure for his true love, and how lonely, frustrated, and aching he was as a result. He even told Naboo about Parsley, and how he turned out to be the prince of the kingdom, and was marrying a Russian princess. Naboo listened to everything impassively, and didn't interrupt once.

“And I suppose …. I suppose it all got too much for me”, Vince finished, rather lamely.

“So, you've got a bit of a thing for the prince, then?”, asked Naboo.

“No, I made a fool of myself over the prince, and now I never want to see him again”, Vince insisted.

“Well, I can't bring dead people back to life, and you're too big for your pony now anyway, and taking on lawyers is something that could go on for years and years, and we might still lose”, said Naboo. “But if you've got a crush on a prince, and you're lonely, and desperate for a bit of action … that, I can probably help with”.

“Really? Out of all my problems, that's the one you concentrate on?”, said Vince, giving his shaman godfather a bit of a glare.

“It's achievable”, said Naboo. “We have to be practical about things. I can get you into the entertainment in the courtyard, easy. I can make it so that the prince notices you, easy. After that, it's up to you, and maybe a bit of luck”.

“Unbelievable”, said Vince, shaking his head.

“Take it or leave it”, shrugged Naboo. “Refuse my help, and you will never see or hear me again. It's your choice”.

“Alright, then”, said Vince abruptly. “If that's all you can do, then do it. At least I'll have one night of fun to remember for the rest of my miserable life”.

“That's the spirit”, Naboo deadpanned. “Alright, I'm going to use a potion that will transform you into someone the prince will find irresistible. You will become his perfect romantic and erotic fantasy”.

He reached into the pocket of his robes, and took out a little purple bottle, marked _Fantasy Come to Life_ in strange, squiggly writing. “Drink this”, Naboo ordered, holding out the bottle.

Vince took off the lid and sniffed it warily. It smelled sweet and intoxicating, so he tipped the contents of the bottle down his throat. There was a bright swirl of light around him and he had a sudden impulse to spin around very quickly, so he turned on his heel three times.

Dizzily, he looked down at himself. His kitchen uniform was gone, and in its place he wore a white lace dress, the bodice covered in glittering sequins. The dress was held up by satin straps, and the skirt was extremely short, but had many layers of tulle in the petticoat, so that it stood out stiffly. He wore white silk stockings under the dress, and a pair of white satin lace-up ankle boots with diamonds covering the high heels.

He could feel something was in his hair, and when he looked in the mirror over the wash basin in the corner, he saw it was a hair band sewn over with tiny white rosebuds. His hair was raven black now, and had been carefully cut and set into an arrangement that would have taken hours to achieve in real life, but which suggested that he had only just got out of bed, and lazily wiped a hand through his luxurious locks. His face had been elaborately made up, with his eyes in particular looking stunning with dark smudges around them, like a toned down Mr Robert Smith.

“I look exactly the same!”, Vince said indignantly.

“Oh really?”, said Naboo, with dangerous casualness. “You were crying in a kitchen dressed in a white lace dress and diamond-encrusted boots, your face covered in make-up, and your hair dyed black, were you?”.

“I don't mean that. I mean that my face and body haven't actually changed at all”, said Vince. “I mean, I haven't even grown breasts or anything. Surely the prince's fantasy is a beautiful girl?”.

“Apparently not”, said Naboo with a little smirk, looking Vince up and down.

“And if he likes men, why I am wearing a dress?”, Vince wanted to know.

“Seems as if the prince's fantasy is a skinny big-nosed boy in a frock”, grinned Naboo.

“This is a joke, right?”, asked Vince in vexation. “I haven't become tall and handsome, or petite and pretty, or changed in any way. I can't believe the prince's fantasy is me in a little dress and boots with my hair dyed! You must have done something wrong”.

“Don't you ever insult my magical abilities”, said Naboo with a face like thunder. “I'm going to turn my back on you now”.

He slowly turned and showed Vince his back for about ten seconds, before turning around again.

“I hope you've learnt your lesson”, Naboo said severely. “If this is what you look like after drinking the potion, then that's how you're supposed to look. And it's working out well, because now I can easily get you into the courtyard as one of the entertainers”.

“What about all the work I'm meant to do?”, Vince protested.

Naboo looked around, clicked his fingers, and the kitchen was so clean and sparkling it was barely recognisable. A pile of glittering silver shone on the table.

“You can ride a horse, right?”, Naboo said. “You need a horse. Ah, there's one”. He bent down, and scooped Vince's mouse friend Gilbert off the floor. Gilbert squeaked in fear as Naboo held him.

This was so ridiculous that Vince didn't even say anything. He was beginning to think the whole thing was an insane practical joke.

“Let's go outside”, Naboo ordered, leading Vince through the door onto the main lawn. He put Gilbert on the grass, spoke a few words over him, and a very surprised Gilbert instantly became a stunning white Arabian horse.

Vince stared in shock (he didn't rub his eyes, because that would have made a mess of his make-up). He'd changed his mind. This wasn't a practical joke – Naboo had drugged him, and now he was hallucinating.

“Mount your horse, my lady”, said Naboo, with a sarcastic flourish.

“I'm not a lady”, Vince objected.

“That's alright. This ain't no horse, neither”, Naboo replied with a wicked smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the 19th century at least, a scullion was a female servant – the lowest rank of the kitchen staff. I think the word sounds masculine, so I made scullions male kitchen staff, with the female equivalent a kitchen wench. I got Vince's wages out of a massive Victorian book on household management, which was very useful generally. 
> 
> dandyprat (18th century slang): an insignificant little person of no consequence; basically, much the same as the modern word “prat”.
> 
> creep-peeper: invented slang of obvious meaning.
> 
> mollyflog: invented homophobic slang; “molly” is old slang for a homosexual male prostitute.
> 
> Dalston Hill is Tower Hill, Upper Dalston Street is Upper Thames Street, and the Wintertide Temple is All Hallows' Church (All Hallows Day is traditionally the start of winter). This is the oldest church in modern London, built on top of Roman paving, and its original address was Black Swan Court (it's now on Byward Street). 
> 
> Pictish: the Picts or Picti were Celtic Britons who controlled northern and central Scotland from the Iron Age until the early Middle Ages. In this world, they still seem to be ruling at least part of Scotland. There is a pleasant folk belief (I think wrong etymologically) that links the Picti with the word “pixie” as if they were the original fairy people. If you would like to think of Mrs Pelham as one of the fair folk, that would not displease me. 
> 
> Persian Empire: its furthest reaches stretched to modern-day Afghanistan and Pakistan in the 6th century BC. I imagined the empire remaining the same for the next couple of millennia, at least.


	9. Blackbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo gets Vince and Gilbert in to the entertainment as a bareback rider and her horse, and Vince attracts the attention of the prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story has been changed from Gen to M/M.

''One more for the palace entertainment“, said Naboo in his flat, bored voice. He was leading Gilbert by the mane, and Vince was sitting on the horse who had recently been a mouse.

''Who are you? I don't have you on the list“, the stout man on the back gate of the courtyard said with a frown.

''Listen, mate. I get told, _Bring in another entertainer_ , so I bring one. I don't know nothing about no list. No one tells me nothing, do they? But if I bring her back again, there'll be a right barney“.

The stout man eyed Naboo with some sympathy. ''What is she anyway?“.

''Bareback rider, bleeding obvious“, said Naboo.

''An Egyptian, like you, I'll warrant“, the man on the gate said.

''She's as Egyptian as me, and as Egyptian as you“, said Naboo enigmatically.

''Half-breed?“, the man said with mild interest. ''Look, they can always find room for one more, and if she's half Gypper she'll know what to do with a horse. Go on through“.

''I can't believe it was that easy“, Vince whispered, putting his head down close to Naboo's ear.

“The thing is, the potion only lasts until midnight”, Naboo warned him.

“Easy. I'll leave before the fireworks, and have plenty of time to get back”, Vince replied.

“Hey you! Rider!”, another man shouted. “Join the other riders, right now”.

Vince obediently turned Gilbert by the mane, and encouraged him to go a bit faster. Gilbert had never been trained as a horse, obviously, but mice are very intelligent, and he was learning quickly. He trotted over to where the other riders were congregated.

“This is a bloody disaster!”, the man in charge of the riders said. “I've just received word that The Amazing Sasha has been injured, and won't be able to ride tonight. Do any of you know her routine, or have any experience with trick riding?”.

A slim dark young man in a costume covered in coloured squares diffidently raised his hand. “I know a few things, sir”, he said. “Mostly circus skills like juggling, but on horseback”.

“That's a start”, said the head of the riders grimly. “Anyone else?”.

“I've seen Sasha perform, sir”, Vince said. “And I taught myself to copy some of her tricks, but I haven't done it for a long time, and it was on a different horse”.

“Do you think you and this boy here could work something up together?”, the man asked. “Even a five minute routine is better than nothing”.

“We'll try, sir”, said Vince, and the brightly-coloured young man nodded.

“What are your names?”, the man queried, getting ready to write them down.

“I'm Jacques Le Cube”, the man in the colourful costume said.

“And I'm … er … Blackbird. Blackbird … um, McNight”, said Vince, hastily choosing names that seemed to suit his new dark hair, and with a nod to the first animal who had ever spoken to him.

“Got it”, the man said briefly. “The rest of you. Come over here and get ready for riding in formation”.

Vince and Jacques rode together onto the lawn to start working on their routine. Vince reflected that of course he was missing all the other acts, but being chosen to replace the star of the show was exciting, if nerve-wracking.

Jacques turned out to have modestly undersold his abilities. He was a skilled bareback rider who could both jump and gallop without a saddle and bridle, and do so while juggling balls or skittles. There was a lounging grace to everything he did that made it seem effortless.

Vince had a go riding standing up, desperately telling Gilbert to work with him. It took a while, but he managed it okay, and even did a few dance poses with his arms stretched over his head and one leg in the air. With Gilbert's assistance, Vince and Jacques worked on what was to be their finale – Vince would leap from Gilbert onto Jacques' horse, and they would ride offstage together, while Gilbert cantered in a circle alone, then followed them. It wasn't brilliant, but it was good enough.

At last they were called to come back, as it was nearly their turn, and watched the act before them from the wings. An actor named Simon McFarnaby has just finished his one-man show, _Spring Lodestones_ , and now a gorilla named Bollo was doing a comedy act.

“Eastern Gorillas are like all, GRRRR, but Western Gorillas are like AAURGH”, Bollo began. He waited for laughter. There was a smattering of polite applause from an audience who didn't get the local references.

“My friend Chinquo, we play together in forest as children. My father warn us, _No go too far. Hunters on edge of forest. Will kill you_. But Chinquo curious. He always say, _Bollo, please. Let us go to edge of forest_. Over and over again he ask. So one day, I chop his head off”.

There were boos, and a few people threw old eggs at him. “Tough crowd”, Bollo said, licking egg off his fur.

“Let's hear it for Bollo!”, shouted the MC, hissing to Bollo, “Get off the stage, you hack”.

Vince felt sorry for the gorilla, whose eyes looked sad, so he yelled out, “Woo! Bollo! Great set”.

Jacques stared, and then he gave a smile and shouted, “We love you, Bollo!”.

“Shut up, the pair of you”, ordered the man in charge of the riders, before he sent the other riders on to ride in neat formation, as they had been relentlessly drilled to do. They didn't make any mistakes, and were rewarded with a lot of applause.

Vince felt a knot of nerves in the pit of his stomach, and then the MC spoke in hushed, serious tones. “Ladies and gentlemen, The Amazing Sasha has suffered a riding injury, and cannot be here this evening. I know you'll all be thinking of her while she recovers”.

He paused, as the audience looked concerned, and there was a buzz of worried voices while everyone discussed this news. Vince refused to look at the prince or any of of the royal family – he knew they would distract him from riding well.

“Riding in her place tonight will be Jacques Le Cube, who trained with the greatest circuses in France!”, the MC shouted. “And prepare to welcome Blackbird McNight, an exotic beauty who is a protege of The Amazing Sasha herself!”.

The crowd cheered, but Vince felt angry and upset that the MC had told such blatant lies about him. He tried not to let it ruin his focus, but rode out into the brightly-lit courtyard beside Jacques, his eyes already dazzled by the limelight.

As they had agreed, Vince and Jacques cantered around the courtyard in opposite directions, and then Jacques began juggling on horseback while taking a series of small jumps, and Vince stood on Gilbert's back while he cantered, and struck some poses. Any time Vince almost slipped, he tried to make it seem like part of the act, and was gratified to hear the audience gasp, then laugh when they thought it had been staged.

At last it was over, and the audience was clapping and cheering in appreciation. Vince leapt onto Jacques' horse, and sat behind him, waving to the audience. When they rode near the royal seats, Vince risked a look, and saw the prince clapping heartily, talking to the Russian princess as if to point out how good the show was. Vince waved, and kissed the tips of his fingers to the prince, feeling very daring. Then he and Jacques were off stage, and Vince was shaking with nerves after his experience.

“Encore, encore!”, the crowd roared. “More! More!”.

“You have to go back on”, the leader of the riders said urgently. “Quick – now. Go on”.

Looking at each other blankly, Jacques and Vince rode back into the courtyard, and galloped as fast as possible around together as if having a race. There was only one thing Vince could do as an encore, and he hadn't practised at all. Carefully, he rolled up on his shoulders, then stood on his hands while Gilbert cantered around. He felt his little skirt fall down, and all he had on underneath was a tiny pair of white lace knickers. Vince worried that they did very little to disguise his manhood.

Jacques didn't do anything to distract from Vince's performance, but trotted around in a tight figure-of-eight facing backwards, clapping to encourage the audience.

“Three cheers for Blackbird!”, somebody called, and then the entire audience was standing, many of them stamping their feet as they clapped.

Vince carefully dropped back down, riding flat on his back for a short while until he could get himself righted. Then he and Jacques came forward and held hands as they took a bow, before they they could finally trot their horses off stage. Vince jumped down from Gilbert, and hugged Jacques, who patted his back.

“Thanks Jacques, you were genius”, Vince said, before a very grand-looking messenger approached him.

“Miss McNight? The prince would be honoured if you could grant him a short private meeting”.

Vince's eyes opened wide in shock, and he began stammering that he couldn't, he wasn't properly dressed, he wasn't used to this –

''Please, Miss McNight. You look charming, and the prince will take up just a few minutes of your time“, said the messenger, who was used to dealing with people falling to pieces at being asked to meet royalty, and knew they sometimes needed gentle coaxing.

''Alright“, Vince quavered, and allowed himself to be led to a quiet alcove far away from everyone else, where the prince was waiting, looking rather nervous himself. The messenger discreetly left, after having received the nod from the prince.

''Your Majesty“, Vince said, and dipped into a curtsey. It was a very good curtsey for a first attempt, but a bit graceless for someone who was presumably experienced at it.

''Miss McNight. Enchanted“, said the prince, bowing over Vince's hand to kiss it. ''Please, sit with me”.

The prince gestured to a little wooden bench between two potted plants, and Vince sat down, smoothing his skirt and trying to keep his legs together. His hand tingled from where the prince's lips had touched it. The prince sat down next to him once Vince looked settled.

“Miss McNight, you are … beautiful. I mean, you ride beautifully. I mean, you are a wonderful horse rider”, said the prince, getting flustered.

“Thank you, sir”, said Vince demurely, looking down at his boots. He inwardly preened at hearing the prince stumble over calling him beautiful.

“Please don't call me _sir_ ”, said the prince earnestly. “Won't you call me by my name, Miss McNight?”

Vince flushed. He had never before said the prince's name, even to himself. “Thank you, Prince … Howard”.

“I'd be so glad if you would just call me Howard”, the prince said gently.

Vince smiled. “I will, if you call me Blackbird”.

“Of course, Blackbird. A lovely name for a lovely … er, lady”.

“Thank you … Howard”, said Vince, thinking their conversation was very stilted compared to the easy way Parsley had chatted to him.

“I believe you were trained by Sasha herself, Miss … I mean, Blackbird?”.

“No, the MC was stretching the truth a very long way”, said Vince, glad to put this to rights. “I saw her perform, and taught myself a few of the tricks I'd seen”.

“That's even more impressive”, said Howard. “I also like riding. I'm not as good as you, of course, but I'm pretty good. I won a horse race once”.

“Did you?”, said Vince, not knowing what else to say.

''Well, actually I came second“, Howard confessed. ''And there were only two people in the race“.

''You probably shouldn't tell people that part“, giggled Vince.

''No, I shouldn't“, smiled Howard. Vince thought how sweet his smile was. ''Perhaps you could ride me some time. I mean to say, you're welcome to ride any of the palace horses, if you'd ever like to ride me. I mean, ride _with_ me“.

''Perhaps one day“, said Vince. ''I hardly know you at present, nor you me“.

''Of course“, Howard said, seeming to feel the rebuke. ''I would like to know you better, Blackbird“.

''You might not like what you discovered“, Vince said softly, looking down at the paving beneath them.

''I'm sure I would“, said Howard, gazing at Vince as if he had never before seen someone like him. ''Actually, it's my birthday next week. I was wondering if you'd like to come. I mean, come to my birthday party“.

“Would Princess Dorothea like that?”, asked Vince with a raised eyebrow. “Or King Peter?”.

Howard got a stubborn look on his face. “It's my birthday party, and I can ask whoever I like. It's nothing much. Just a few friends, a bit of music and dancing, and there'll be food and drink and all the usual”.

Vince hesitated, so Howard took an invitation and a pen out of his pocket, hastily wrote _Miss Blackbird McNight_ into the space for the guest's name, and handed it to him.

“Please consider it”, he said, looking at Vince pleadingly. “It would mean the world to me if you came. I mean, came to my party”.

“I'll think about it”, said Vince at last, not wanting to disappoint Howard, but not able to see how it could possibly be arranged.

“Thank you”, said Howard. “Now, would you like to accompany me to the royal seating, and we'll watch the fireworks together?”.

“Oh no, the fireworks!”, Vince said in a panic.

“Sorry?”.

“I really can't. My godfather has put me under a curse, I mean under a curfew, and I must be home by midnight, or else!”. Vince turned to make his escape.

“Wait … you have a godfather? Or else, what?”, asked Howard distractedly, but Vince was already legging it out of the courtyard, tripping over his high-heeled boots almost immediately.

“Bye, Howard!”, he called as he ran away.

“Blackbird!”, Howard cried. “Come back!”.

But it was too late. The bird had flown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacques Le Cube is a harlequin, with his costume decorated with the familiar colourful squares. Traditionally, the harlequin wears a black mask (because he's a demon), so I have given Jacques dark skin. The harlequin is agile and nimble, and at least one of his variants is a juggler.


	10. The Birthday Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naboo helps Vince to attend Howard's birthday party, but can he really fit in at a royal banquet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If nobody minds, I'm going to start posting chapters a bit quicker, since we're in the final chapters of the story now.

Vince ran up the hill towards the palace, and then stopped when the fireworks began. He had never seen any before, and was dazzled at the sight of the castle lit up in shades of lavender, pink and blue, with little white stars falling upon it. Then great bursts of scarlet and gold exploded above, and green flares which lit up the night sky eerily, to sounds like bombs going off and the scent of gunpowder in the air. It was if the castle was under attack, and yet all done to entertain.

There was a final enormous blast of sound, and a fountain of purple flowers seemed to float over the castle walls, ending with a great flourish of white light that glowed like an enormous star or planet over the main tower. Its light ebbed away as the last bell of midnight struck in the Clock Tower of Dalston Palace, and then Vince looked down and saw he was an ordinary fair-headed boy in a kitchen uniform.

“Wait a minute, where's Gilbert?”, Vince said in a panic. A few minutes later, there came an angry squeaking in the grass below him.

“Oh Gilbert, I'm so sorry”, Vince said contritely, picking his friend up. “I'm sorry I left you behind, and I'll never make you be a horse again. But you were brilliant, and I'll get you some earthnuts as a reward”.

Vince was still feeding Gilbert his treat when the rest of the kitchen staff came home, chattering about the colourful fireworks, the wonderful dancing, music, and acrobats, and the horses.

“You should have seen the lady in a lace dress riding a white horse, Vince”, said a very young wench named Innogen excitedly. “She looked just like a fairy princess”.

“Mm, nice legs”, agreed Johnny. “Nice little rumpy, too. We saw it when her dress fell over her shoulders as she was standing on her hands”.

“Not my type”, said Ravi. “I like a girl with a bit more up top, if you know what I mean”. He cupped his hands in the air near his chest and bounced them to demonstrate what he meant.

“Vince, the kitchen looks exceptional, and the silver is shining perfectly”, said Mr Gorton, patting him on the back. “Johnny confessed to swapping jobs, and that was very wrong of you both, but you've been punished enough. Johnny will be doing his punishment tomorrow”.

“I'll help you”, Vince mouthed to Johnny, who looked surprised, but pleased. He'd thought that Vince would barely be speaking to him after everything that had happened. But Vince felt that as his punishment had been done by magic, the least he could do was give Johnny a hand.

**********************************************

The following morning, Mr Gorton said there was a huge banquet to prepare for the next week. “It is Prince Howard's twenty-third birthday, and as he has only just returned home, and brought a distinguished guest with him - “.

“That's his new missus”, called out Niniane cheekily.

Mr Gorton gave her a repressive look. “The Russian princess may or may not be a prospective bride”, he said sternly. “But we know she is royalty, and a guest in our kingdom. We must prepare a feast that will show the Russian Empire that we can produce hospitality fit for even the greatest to enjoy”.

Vince whispered to Ursula, “I didn't know the prince's party was going to be this big”.

She stared at him. “Are you a simpleton? It's going to be colossal. Hundreds of guests from all over Europe at a huge ball, with dozens of musicians and singers. How have you not heard about it?”.

A worried Vince skipped dinner, instead racing up to the dormitory to be by himself. He sat on his bunk bed, and called out, “Naboo? Can you hear me?”. When there was no answer, he cried out more urgently, “Shaman godfather, I need you. It's Vince”.

“What is it now?”, Naboo said grumpily. He had suddenly materialised in the dormitory, and he had the gorilla Bollo with him.

“Bollo!”, Vince said delightedly. “What are you doing here?”.

“He's my familiar now”, Naboo announced. “I mean, let's face it – comedy was never going to be his career, was it? An angry mob came after him, so I magicked him away with me”.

“Naboo save me”, said Bollo, already sounding devoted. “Now I help Naboo”.

“Yeah, he's been tons of help”, said Naboo sarcastically. “Sorry I couldn't stick around to see how you went, Vince. What happened?”.

“Well, the act went alright. Pretty good, actually. We got an encore”, Vince said. “And Prince Howard invited me to a private meeting”.

“Oh yeah?”, said Naboo, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

“It was alright”, Vince said. “A bit awkward though. And now he's asked me to his birthday party, which it turns out is actually a formal ball and banquet for all the titled heads of Europe”.

Naboo whistled. “Blimey, he must like you”.

“No, Howard likes Blackbird McNight, that's the name I made up for myself”, Vince said. “She got the invitation, not me”.

“Ooh, it's _Howard_ now, is it?”, crowed Naboo.

“Well, he asked me to call him that”, said Vince, “so I said he could call me Blackbird”. He blushed.

Naboo stuck his finger down his throat and made vomiting noises.

“But anyway, what am I meant to _do_?”, Vince said, his voice rising up the scale.

“You go to the birthday party”, Naboo counselled. “He asked you, so you've got to go”.

“But what will I wear?”, wailed Vince.

“Leave all that to me”, said Naboo. “Meet me outside the palace gates ten minutes before the party starts, and I'll sort you out. Once again, all I can do is send you to the party looking fit for a prince. After that, it's up to you, and a bit of luck”.

“Thank you, Naboo”, said Vince, “and thank you, Bollo”. He hugged the gorilla, who seemed pleased; Naboo shrank away from the offered hug.

The pair dematerialised, leaving Vince sitting alone, suddenly feeling very hungry. He ran back to the kitchen, hoping that someone would have saved him a bread roll, at least, to hold him until tea.

*****************************************

On the evening of Howard's birthday party, Vince thought he would never be able to get away from the kitchens. There was so much extra work to do, and he and the other servants had been kept working long hours to prepare for the banquet. At last, it was twenty minutes before the party was supposed to start, and there was no sign of Mr Gorton allowing him to stop working. Unable to think of anything else, he grabbed a knife and deliberately cut his finger until it bled deeply.

“Mr Gorton, Vince is bleeding!”, yelled Niniane.

“For the sake of the gods, get out of the kitchen and away from the food”, Mr Gorton said. “Quickly, go to the nearest medical station. Do you need someone to go with you?”.

Vince shook his head, and ran out of the kitchen, his finger wrapped up in a tea towel, and already throbbing. He kept running until he was through the palace gates, and then he hid in some nearby bushes. Although it was a warm spring evening, he was shivering with cold, and felt as if he might faint.

“Bloody hell, what have you done to yourself?”, Naboo said, suddenly appearing.

“Vince hurt”, Bollo said in concern. “He not strong, he is delicate flower”. He made a soft keening noise, and tried to clean the blood with his tongue.

“Get off him, Bollo! Have you ever heard of germs?”, said Naboo in exasperation.

He quickly healed Vince of his injury, until he was no longer bleeding, no blood could be seen, and no wound or mark at all appeared on his skin.

“Thanks, Naboo”, said Vince, already feeling a bit better. “Sorry about that, only way I could get off work”.

“Alright, got another potion for you”, said Naboo, handing over a bottle, filled with pink liquid this time.

It was labelled _Belle of the Ball_ , and Vince drank it down eagerly. There was a flash of pale blue light accompanied by stars, and once again Vince felt the need to spin around three times. When he looked down at himself, he was wearing a long white organdy ballgown trimmed with silver, the bodice covered in seed pearls. He wore white rosebuds twisted into his dark hair, had a pearl necklace, and on his feet were high heeled slippers made from glass.

“Wow, glass shoes”, Vince marvelled. “They're genius”.

He tried walking in the shoes, and foundered. It was like sliding on a slippery surface.

“Careful with those”, Naboo advised him. “You can only walk very slowly and elegantly in glass slippers”.

Vince took two mincing, glacial steps, tripped over the high heels, and came crashing down, the glass slippers shattering into the traditional million pieces before disappearing.

“Whoops”, said Vince with an embarrassed grin.

“Not to worry”, said Naboo breezily. “I've got these as back up”. He took out a pair of dirty old shoes from somewhere behind him.

“Is this a joke?”, cried Vince.

Naboo ignored him, and moved his hands over the shoes, while muttering incantations. There was a flash of yellow light, and there was now a beautiful pair of silver shoes to match the dress.

“These are much better, thanks Naboo”, said Vince, as he slipped them on his feet. He wriggled his toes, and thought the shoes might be a touch too big for him, but looked perfect. “Sorry I broke the glass ones”.

Naboo gave an understanding hand wave. “That potion is a bit old-fashioned now, and always tries to make people wear glass shoes”, he said. “It thinks they're romantic, but they're not really that practical”.

“Well, here I go”, said Vince, beginning to feel excited.

“Don't forget – it's just until midnight, yeah?”, Naboo reminded him.

“Thanks, Naboo. Thanks, Bollo”, said Vince, his mouth already dry from nerves.

He got back through the gates easily enough by walking at the rear of a large group of people who had all arrived together, and then let them get ahead before he walked up the front steps of the castle. He discovered he had a pearl evening bag attached to his dress, opened it, and took out his invitation, presenting it to the footman.

“Excuse me one moment, Miss”, said the footman politely, and went to consult with a more senior footman.

Vince strained to listen to their conversation, but all he heard was _special circumstances_ , and _orders come direct from the prince_. Was it his imagination, or did the footmen glance at him shrewdly, as if sizing him up?

“I do apologise for that delay, Miss”, said the senior footman, coming forward to escort Vince up the steps himself. When they reached the top, he announced his arrival loudly. “I present to the company, Miss Blackbird McNight”.

Vince walked into the huge hall where guests were congregated, suddenly realising that he stood out as a young woman without a chaperone. Every female there was with a man – either a husband, or a father, uncle, cousin, or brother. Quite a few people stared at him for this reason alone, while his name of Miss Blackbird McNight had been dropped like a pebble into a sea of Princesses, Duchesses, Countesses, Baronesses, Ladies, and Honourables.

Vince found a quiet corner, and tried not to fiddle with his necklace or his flowers. Nobody spoke to him, and he feared that this was another of the prince's jokes – sending him to a party where he would soon be uncovered as a fraud. The hall was filled with beautiful paintings and statues that Vince would have liked to see, but there were too many people milling about.

Another footman approached him, saying, “Your card, Miss McNight”. Vince took the heavy cream card from the salver he carried, wondering what it was. When he opened the card it said _HRH Howard, Crown Prince of Camden_. He was too scared to ask the footman what the card was for, so only thanked him and smiled. Perhaps everyone got one, as a memento.

A few minutes later, he saw Howard walking through the crowd, taller than almost everyone, greeting people left and right, until he stood in front of Vince. He looked resplendent in his dark suit, although his hair was already beginning to come loose and look untidy. Vince gave another little curtsy, and the prince kissed his hand as before.

“I have received a card which says I am to escort you in to dinner, Miss McNight”, Howard said with a little smile.

“I thought I was Blackbird”, Vince said, still too nervous to smile back.

“In private. In public, we must be Miss and Sir”, said Howard, rather sadly.

“Sir, did you arrange it so that you would be my dinner partner?”, asked Vince, giving a tiny smile at last.

“Oh no, miss. Princes don't arrange their own birthday parties”, said Howard. “I may, however, have said a word to my sister, who is the hostess”.

“Remind me to thank her, sir”, said Vince, his smile growing broader.

“Delightful as it is to chat to you, Miss McNight, I think I had better escort you to dinner”, said Howard, offering his arm. “Nobody can go in until I do, and they are probably getting restless and hungry”.

Vince linked his slim bare arm through Howard's strong jacketed one, and together they were the first people through the vast doors of the Banqueting Hall. The elegant pale green room had Greek columns rising from the parquet floor, while chandeliers dropped from the painted ceiling. Dozens of little tables were set out, decorated with candles and vases of red peonies.

Howard walked around the room so that he could greet people, and so Vince could see all the decorations. When they got to their table, which was at the front of the room on a little dais, it turned out to be for the royal family and their guests.

“May I present, Miss Blackbird McNight”, Howard said, as he pulled a chair out for Vince.

Princess Matilda's betrothed, Prince Pedro of Spain, stood up and bowed his head as Vince sat down.

“I hope you will excuse me standing, my dear”, said King Peter. “My foot, or lack thereof, frequently troubles me”.

“Of course, Your Majesty”, said Vince, as Howard slipped into the seat next to him.

“Miss McNight, I believe I remember you from the entertainment the other evening”, said Princess Matilda. “You're a simply marvellous rider”.

“Thank you, Ma'am”, said Vince, only Matilda said to call her by her first name, and Vince reciprocated.

“What, there is a circus rider sitting at the royal table?”, asked Prince Pedro in disbelief, wondering if some subtle nuance of the local language had escaped him.

“The Russian Emperor frequently has circus performers sitting at his own table”, said Dorothea proudly. “In Russia, we honour those with knowledge, intelligence, and talent, not nobility only”.

“And very wise of Emperor Boris”, said King Peter. Vince shot Dorothea a grateful look.

Howard offered Vince a glass of champagne, but he said he had never drunk alcohol before, and didn't know if he liked it. He didn't care to say his father had rather put him off drinking.

“You shouldn't have your first drink at a party”, said Howard. “We've got lots of different things to choose from, so don't be embarrassed. Father doesn't drink now. He says if he once started drinking to dull the pain caused by his foot, he would never be able to stop, so better to never start”.

Vince looked over at King Peter, who was talking to Dorothea about Russian literature with every sign of deep interest. You would not guess he had to deal with almost constant pain.

“Your father is very strong”, he said. “You must be proud of him”.

“I am”, said Howard, “but sometimes it is difficult living in his shadow”.

“You must find your own light to shine in”, smiled Vince, and Howard chuckled, calling a passing footman to fetch Vince a glass of lemonade.

****************************************

Vince didn't expect to have any trouble with the banquet – he had set enough tables to know what all the forks and spoons were for, and the royal style was to place all the dishes on the table at once, so guests could help themselves to as much or at little as they wanted.

But in deference to Princess Dorothea, the palace was using what they called “Russian Service”, which meant that everybody received an individual plate of food for each course, served either very hot or very cold. Vince thought this meant a lot of work for the servants, and realised why everyone had been working so hard and feeling the strain. He felt guilty – he was needed in the kitchen, and yet here he was, sitting down to dinner with the royal family!

There were so many courses, and each one required a different set of cutlery. Only Princess Dorothea seemed to really know what she was doing, and everyone at the table watched her carefully. Howard sometimes gently corrected Vince by touching his hand when he made a mistake, which made his stomach flutter.

“I'm sorry if I make you nervous”, Howard whispered very quietly in his ear, which made Vince blush and drop his fork. He began to bend down and pick it up, but Howard held his hand to restrain him, and gestured to a footman to bring Vince a clean fork.

Another compliment to Princess Dorothea was that many of the dishes were Russian, or Russian-inspired. The fish course was smoked salmon and caviar on little pancakes, the game course was pigeon breast cooked in breadcrumbs with thinly sliced potato chips, and one of the desserts was a burnt cream. Princess Dorothea always politely said of each dish, “Very good. It is different to how we would serve it in Russia, but very nice. Very fresh and original”.

Vince was staggered at how many courses rich people ate. Instead of eating one big plate of meat and vegetables, there were many little plates of different foods, interspersed with refreshing dishes that were meant to give you a rest between courses, such as a cold watercress soup, a basil sorbet, a rocket salad, or a plate of fruit and cheese. Vince couldn't understand how eating more food was meant to be a break from eating. He started picking at his food, worried that another plate would be along in a few minutes.

“You eat like a little bird, just like your name”, Howard teased.

Vince did love the dessert courses. He had a sweet tooth, and when they had them at all, servants were given very plain puddings, such as a jam roll with custard, or a rice pudding. Here there were meringues, profiteroles, dainty cherry tarts, and most impossibly delicious of all, apricot ice cream. The shock of the cold on his tongue, the sweet creamy fruit that literally melted in his mouth. Princess Dorothea looked approvingly at her ice cream.

“Ah, a very good creamed ice. In Camden, you have the purest flavours. Everything tastes very much of itself. This is excellent”.

Sunniva had said that Dorothea would cheer up in time, and she certainly seemed cheerful enough now. She had been talking happily with King Peter, didn't mind a circus rider sitting at the royal table, and was clearly loving her food. She and Howard had exchanged a few words, and although they seemed to get along well, Vince thought that it was really Camden itself that made the difference. Howard barely seemed to need to do anything to please her. She still didn't smile, but maybe that was from being Russian.

*****************************************

The birthday cake was served at the end, a towering white edifice intricately carved to look exactly like the castle, on a green marzipan lawn surrounded by pink marzipan gardens. The royal family were chocolate figurines on the balcony, and there was glass for the river, covered in choux pastry swans. Vince remembered Granny Pelham describing making royal cakes: apparently this was the classic design for them. This time, in front of the castle was a cavalcade of white horses ridden by raven-haired ballerinas in white tutus. Vince blushed to see that the gossip about he and Howard had spread to the kitchens.

Everyone sang _For Howard's a Jolly Good Crown Prince_ , and then the cake was served. Even after the meringues, profiteroles, tarts, and ice cream, Vince thought it was delicious. At last the footmen took away their final round of dirty plates, for what Vince knew meant an absolute mountain of washing up, which he wasn't helping with. He fiddled with his pearls guiltily.

Princess Matilda led the other ladies and Vince out of the Banqueting Hall so they could tidy up. Vince started walking towards one of the public bathrooms in the gallery, but Matilda said, “There's no need for that, Blackbird. Let's just go up to my bedroom to powder our noses”.

“What do the men do while we're making ourselves pretty for the ball?”, Vince asked Matilda.

“Drink port, smoke cigarillos, and tell dirty stories”, laughed Matilda. “Except I'm sure Father, Howard, and Pedro won't do the last one”.

Princess Matilda's bedroom turned out to be in the east tower, and Vince exclaimed at the view, for he could see boats lit by lanterns in the river, all the way out to the mouth of the sea.

“You're a real life princess in a tower!”, he said with a giggle.

“Ugh, my hair keeps coming loose from this awful diamond barrette”, Matilda complained. “It's been digging into me all night”.

Vince offered to redo it, but Matilda said she was changing into a tiara for the ball. Vince brushed her hair, patted a little scent into it, and helped her to affix the tiara.

“Thank you so much, Blackbird”, said Matilda. “I adore your frock, by the way. It's so simple, with such clean lines, and the pearls are darling”.

Vince thanked her, then said, “You look absolutely beautiful. I've always thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. Even when we were children”.

“You saw me when I was little?”, frowned Matilda. “When?”.

“At a Spring Festival tea party at the palace”, Vince said.

“I'm afraid I don't recall you being at the party”, said Matilda.

“I've … I've changed a lot since then”, Vince stammered.

“Blackbird, please don't be offended at what I have to say”, Matilda began. “I like you very much. You're a sweet girl, and quite unpretending. But I know my brother has a great … has taken a great fancy to you. I'm afraid that … you're going to hurt him”.

Vince shook his head mutely, his blue eyes wide open.

“You might think he is very strong, and that he keeps his heart well-protected. But it is covered by the thinnest of shells. Break through that brittle shell, and inside he has the softest, most tender heart. He doesn't love easily, but when he does, he makes himself very vulnerable, and … I am concerned for him”, Matilda went on.

“It is me who will be hurt, princess”, said Vince sadly.

“If you return his feelings, then I am afraid that will be the case”, said Matilda worriedly. “Can you not see what you would have to become to be with my brother, what people would call you? I know it is unfair, but for your own sake, wouldn't it be better to step away before you both become hurt?”.

“Princess, I promise that the girl you see in front of you now will be gone by tomorrow”, said Vince solemnly. “Please let Howard and I have one night together before that happens”.

“My poor Blackbird”, said Matilda kindly. “I'm sorry it has to be this way. I know people see our lives, and think we have everything. Indeed, we know ourselves to be greatly privileged. Yet we cannot always marry as we would wish”.

“Are _you_ marrying as you would wish?”, Vince asked bluntly.

“I'm one of the lucky ones”, said Matilda. “Pedro and I were formally introduced when I was twelve and he was sixteen, and we became attached to each other straight away. I've grown fonder and fonder of him during our betrothal, and am very much looking forward to our wedding day next year. The only sad part will be leaving Daddy and Howard behind, but one day I will be the Queen Consort of Spain, and must live among my people”.

Vince thought that Matilda was certainly getting a happy ending by marrying a handsome prince that she was very fond of. The fact that it was a marriage to her cousin, arranged when she was a child, and that she would have to leave her family to live in a foreign country forever, seemed to make it rather less romantic than it at first sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fireworks display at the palace is loosely inspired by the one at Cinderella's Castle, Disney World. 
> 
> The Clock Tower at Dalston Palace is the equivalent of the one at the Palace of Westminster in our world, which contains the bell named Big Ben.
> 
> earthnuts: old name for peanuts 
> 
> I imagined Vince's ballgown as being in the Regency style, which seemed to suit someone with a slim, straight up and down body and not much of a bust. And it's a nice light cotton organdy to keep cool while dancing on a warm spring night. The white and silver colouring is straight from the 1950 Disney “Cinderella” movie. I read quite a few descriptions of Cinderella's ballgown in old books, and although always left vague, nearly all of them insist on silver/gold, jewels, and flowers being part of her ensemble, so I gave Vince silver trim and accessories, pearls (because they're white), and roses in his hair, like the ones worn in “Call of the Yeti”. I could not get behind glass shoes, as I just can't see how a person could physically run and dance in them and they seem rather cruel, so Vince got silver ones instead, like in the Grimm version. 
> 
> The Banqueting Hall is based on the Banqueting House, the only remaining part of the Palace of Whitehall, a royal residence of the 16th and 17th centuries. Designed by Inigo Jones, you can still visit it, and even eat in it, as it's hired out as a venue for weddings etc. The tables are decorated with red peonies because they are symbols of royalty, power, and wealth. 
> 
> Circuses were very popular with the Russian aristocracy, and circus performers given a great deal of respect. Nicholas I had his own circus, although I can't find any evidence they got asked to dinner. Imperial Russia attracted highly talented foreigners to the court, and was ready to pay them well and honour them for providing excellent food, music, medical treatment, and entertainment. Allowing their own serfs to study and gain these skills was more problematic, although some serfs did become famous circus performers. Dorothea possibly sees Vince as fitting into the “talented foreigner” category (unless the Russian Empire really is more of a meritocracy in this world). It's certainly a compliment that she saw his routine and thinks he's good enough to impress an emperor. 
> 
> “Russian Service” is “service a la Russe”, which took over from “French Service” (service a la Francaise) in the late 19th century. “French Service” had been used since the Middle Ages, and each course would have a number of different dishes, all of which would be served at once, with guests helping themselves from the serving dishes. “Russian Service” instead brings every guest their own plate of food – it's still what we would expect at even quite a modest dinner party, or at most restaurants. Nobody has to get their own food, and it doesn't go cold or warm on the table, but isn't as sociable as the old system, and requires far more people to serve it. “Russian Service” originally had a huge number of courses, which have gradually been whittled down to a standard three course meal. I have had a full “Russian Service” at a 5-star Russian restaurant with what seemed like about 15 courses, and like Vince, found food fatigue set in quite quickly (Vince may not have realised it's acceptable to refuse a course). 
> 
> The Russian-inspired food served is smoked salmon and caviar on blinis, pigeon breast cooked like a chicken Kiev, and a crème brulee, which was developed by a French chef working at the Russian court (probably the same one who developed chicken Kiev). 
> 
> The party guests sing a version of “For He's a Jolly Good Fellow”, the song sung at birthdays before the modern “Happy Birthday to You” (although birthday parties and cakes don't have a long history anyway).
> 
> Cigarillo: In English, a small cigar. In Spanish, a cigarette. Matilda could mean either, as it seems reasonable for the Spanish word to have taken hold, rather than the French word cigarette.


	11. A Ball ... And a Balls-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince is the belle of the ball, and Howard is enraptured. But are Howard's intentions honourable, or has Vince brought upon himself the tragic fate which awaits those born under the twin stars when they refuse to wait for a sign of commitment from their true love?

When it was time for the ball to begin, Princess Matilda led the other ladies and Vince down the red carpet of the great white and gold marble staircase. Howard stood at the bottom, as if eagerly waiting to see Vince again, and he looked up as Vince began descending. Matilda had touched up Vince's make-up, redone his hair, and added a fine mist of scent over him, and he felt that he really was looking his best. He tried to glide down the stairs as elegantly as the beautiful Matilda, and managed quite well. His shoes were rubbing the back of his heels, though.

Howard was gazing at Vince as if a heavenly vision approached him, and was ready to take Vince's arm as soon as his foot left the last stair.

“Would you care to dance, Miss McNight?”, he asked, a faint smile upon his lips.

“Yes, but shouldn't you ask Princess Dorothea first?”, Vince asked. “She's your guest”.

“Father doesn't dance, as you know, so Dorothea obligingly said she would sit with dear Cousin Peter for the duration of the ball, and keep him company”, Howard said, gesturing to them.

King Peter was comfortably seated on a red velvet sofa with his metal foot on a little velvet stool. Princess Dorothea sat on one side of him, and her pretty lady-in-waiting Lady Sybil on the other. Both ladies were ready to fetch King Peter coffee, or cold water, or anything he desired, and their conversation seemed very lively, for King Peter was chuckling into his beard, and Princess Dorothea was actually smiling at whatever Lady Sybil was saying. She had a nice smile when it finally arrived, and often looked at Lady Sybil as if glad to have a real friend with her.

“You see, she is very happy where she is”, Howard said. “So won't you join me for the first dance, Miss McNight?”.

“I would like that very much, sir”, said Vince demurely, and then Howard swept him into his arms, so they were the first people on the dance floor. Even when Vince was wearing high heels, Howard still towered over him, which made him feel very dainty and fragile.

“This is strange music”, Vince commented, “and I'm not sure how to dance to it”.

“It's called _jas_ ”, Howard explained, “a new dance music from the Barbarian Colonies. Just let your body move to the rhythm, there's no rules. I hope that doesn't frighten you?”.

“No”, Vince said, but it was actually making him feel tense and irritable, and he was glad when a dark-haired man came on instead.

“That's Gareth Newman”, Howard said, as the man began singing, _Here in my cart I don't feel safe at all, there's no locking doors and I'm vulnerable to highwaymen_.

“Gareth Newman is a genius!”, Vince said excitedly, as he twirled around the floor in Howard's arms. “I think he's my favourite singer now”.

A thin, agile man with a mop of dark hair then took to the stage with his orchestra. The singer began wailing, _I was born in a crossbow hurricane, and I howled at the morning driving rain_.

“I love this song”, Vince said, his feet easily finding a tune to dance to. “What's it about?”.

“It's written about me”, admitted Howard. “When I was born, we were at war against the Picts with our allies from Everwick, and as I came into the world howling my lungs out, the final battle was just beginning on a wet morning. Mother went everywhere with Father, even to the front line during war when she was nine months pregnant”.

“She must have been an amazing woman”, Vince said.

“Mother was madly tough, and of course she was from Everwick herself, so longing to see her home country again. I think it pleased her to give birth to her first child there, and she'd always say to me, _You may be the Prince of Camden, but you're an Everwick man born and bred_ ”.

Vince suddenly realised where that soft lilt in Howard's accent came from, and then they were both clapping Mick Jagger and His Rolling Stone Orchestra. When Mick Jagger finished his set, a tall handsome faintly elfin man with blond hair took the stage, holding a harp. Oddly, his eyes were different colours – one blue, the other appearing brown. His voice was clear and beautiful, and Vince had been dreamily dancing some time before he took note of the lyrics:

_And when I get excited_  
_My little Russian doll says_  
_Oh darling, just you stop your mouth_

“I don't like this one as much as the songs Mick Jagger sang”, said Vince with a pout.

“Hm? Oh, this is Father's Welsh bard, Dafydd ap Bowie. He's very good really. He's got a whole epic called _The Ballad of Ziggy Stardust_ which is just wonderful. I think you'd change your mind if you heard it”.

Vince liked the next song from Dafydd ap Bowie very much, as he sang

_Let's dance_  
_Put on your silver shoes and pearls_  
_Let's sway_  
_Because you're not like all the other girls_

He hummed along, before he realised that Howard was looking softly into his eyes, and singing under his breath:

_My love for you_  
_Would break my heart in two_  
_If you should fall into my arms_  
_And tremble like a flower_

“Miss McNight, are you getting tired from dancing?”, Howard asked, after clearing his throat. “Would you like a drink, or to step outside for some fresh air?”.

“Perhaps for a minute”, Vince said. He was loving dancing with Howard, feeling his body against his, Howard's hands holding him so tenderly. But it would be nice to escape from the heat of the ballroom, and the crush of people around them.

Howard led Vince out of the ballroom by the back way – not up the stairs, but through some double doors that led into a corridor. He called a footman to bring them a jug of cold water and two glasses, and once he had them, used a key to open another door, which led into a small courtyard lit up with lanterns.

“I never knew this was here”, Vince said in delight, as he strolled among the pools and fountains.

“This is a private courtyard, just for the family”, said Howard. “I like coming here to think when I need to clear my head, or just to get away from … things. You'd never guess that if you walked through that arched door on the other side, you'd come out quite near the front steps of the castle”.

Howard put the tray with their drinks down on a stone table in a little pavilion covered in wisteria, before putting one arm around Vince and walking beside him. The full moon was reflected in a circular pool filled with lilies, looking like a gold coin floating in the water.

“Blackbird, I would like to know more about you”, Howard began. “I mean, you know about me, and you've seen where I live, and met my family. Tell me about Blackbird”.

“I grew up in the country”, said Vince shyly. “Both my parents are dead, and I came to Camden Town with my Granny, searching for a better life”.

“And did you find it?”.

“At first, then my Granny died. My Granny left me two hundred gold coins – enough for me to live comfortably and plan for my future. But the lawyers made sure I never got a copper of it. They threatened to send me to prison, and I was forced to work in a kitchen”.

“That's dreadful. But you have a godfather, I believe?”, Howard asked. “Is he … does he treat you well, Blackbird?”.

“Yes, although he's a funny sort of person”, Vince said. “He got me the job riding at the palace entertainment, and gave me this dress to wear to your birthday party”.

“Well, he has surprisingly good taste in dresses”, said Howard, looking at it in appreciation. “You look lovely in it, but I don't suppose it's any great secret that I think you're the most beautiful person in the world”.

“No, I featured on your birthday cake, and in one of the songs at the ball”, Vince said pertly.

“Little minx”, said Howard, squeezing his bare arm. “But Blackbird, may I ask if you believe in love at first sight?”.

“Yes, Howard. I do, Vince said soberly. “I met someone a few years ago, and although we only spoke for an hour or so while we went horse riding, in that time I believe I fell quite in love with him”.

“And what happened to this thrice-blessed man?”, Howard asked, with a slight chill in his voice.

“He went away the next day, abroad actually. I never told him how I felt”, Vince said.

“Speaking of which, when are we going to go riding together?”, asked Howard. “ My stables are quite at your disposal”.

“I would truly love that, Howard”, Vince said. “But perhaps we should wait until after Princess Dorothea has gone home, in case it makes gossip”.

“Oh well, she's probably going to be here quite some time”, said Howard awkwardly.

“Permanently?”, Vince asked, a hollow feeling in his chest.

“Perhaps. I'm not completely sure yet, and I probably shouldn't say anything about it at all”, said Howard, looking torn.

Vince broke away from Howard's grasp, and went to the pavilion for a glass of water, turning his back on Howard. Howard was in the process of securing Princess Dorothea as his bride, and only wanted Vince as his mistress … or paramour, Vince thought confusedly. Only he didn't even know Vince existed, the person he really wanted was Blackbird.

“This is all such a mess”, Vince said in hopeless tones.

“Blackbird, dear?”, said Howard, coming into the pavilion. “I didn't want to upset you. All I wanted was to tell you how much I care for you, and that I'd do anything to make you safe and happy”.

He took Vince into his arms, and despite his promise to Granny Pelham, Vince put his head against Howard's deep chest and nestled there. There was something so big and comforting about Howard, and he had a rich, calming voice that made it seem as if nothing bad could ever happen as long as he was there.

Howard held Vince's pointed chin, and looked down at him with wondering eyes, before gently brushing his lips against Vince's. Vince had promised himself that if things ever got to this point, he would proudly proclaim that he belonged only to his true love. But instead he gave a little gasp, and raised his mouth, and a moment later he had forgotten all promises, all vows. His mind was quite empty of everything except the pleasure of kissing Howard.

There was strength in Howard's kiss, there was sweetness. And beyond all, the vulnerability his sister had warned of, the sense that Howard was baring his soul. The thin protective shell had shattered, and Howard's heart was a wide open door, inviting Vince to enter, and never leave.

And then through the kiss, the moonlight, the rich scent of the wisteria, something got Vince's attention. The first bell of midnight was sounding in the Clock Tower.

“Howard, it's midnight! I've got to go”, Vince exclaimed, and pulled himself away from Howard's arms.

“No, wait! You can't keep doing this. At least explain what will happen”, Howard implored. “Please, let me protect me from your godfather”.

But Vince had fled across the courtyard to the arched door, which it turned out, had a heavy bolt that was stiff from lack of use. He struggled with it as Howard came towards him, pleading with him to stay, finally escaping through the door when it reluctantly opened with a rusty creak.

Howard had said the door came out near the front steps; he hadn't added that the door had its own set of narrow steps. Vince almost fell down them as he hurtled out the door, and one of his shoes came off. He left it on the step where it fell, and ran as fast as he could while wearing a long dress and one shoe.

Meanwhile, Howard had picked up the lost silver shoe, and was calling for footmen, for the palace guards, for anyone who would listen.

“Please, find the young lady who ran away from the palace”, he begged them. “She has dark hair, and is wearing a white dress. She hasn't done anything wrong, I'm only concerned for her safety. She may be in danger, so please, if you can find her, bring her to me”.

There was a hue and cry as they all went looking for Blackbird, and soon it was spread among them that the girl was nothing but a dirty little ruffian; she had probably stolen something valuable.

“Thief, thief”, someone shouted, and if they had ever found Blackbird, I fear what might have been her fate, they were so overexcited and filled with vengeance against her.

But when the crowd eventually did find someone wandering around the palace grounds, it was an ordinary fair-haired boy wearing a kitchen uniform, and with bare feet (he had kicked the other shoe under a bush).

“You there, boy! Who are you?”, asked the head of the palace guard, pointing a heavy pike at Vince.

“I'm Vince Noir. I work in the kitchens, sir”, a very frightened Vince replied.

“And what are you doing, sneaking around the palace grounds like a thief?”, the head of the guards demanded.

“I … don't know”, said poor Vince. “I haven't stolen anything”.

“If you were meant to be working, you've stolen time from your masters”, said the head of the guard grimly.

He nodded his head to two guards, who grabbed Vince, and twisted his arms behind his back.

“I'll take you to Mr Gorton, and see what he has to say”, declared the head of the guard. “You're in a lot of trouble, boy”.

And the guards dragged Vince painfully towards the kitchens with his arms twisted and sore, even as he protested that he would come willingly, there was no need to do any of this. If they would only let go – _please_ – they were hurting him ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jas (historical): an early term for jazz music, coming from 19th century slang. 
> 
> The Barbarian Colonies: somewhere in the Americas, but which parts are in some doubt. It is from these Colonies that the Kingdom of Camden receives things like bananas, chocolate, potatoes, tomatoes, and tobacco. I imagine some of these are luxury goods, only for the wealthy, although ordinary people seem able to grow their own potatoes and tomatoes.
> 
> The songs at the ball are based on “Cars”, “Jumpin' Jack Flash”, “China Girl”, and “Let's Dance”. I made David Bowie a Welsh bard only because his surname was Jones, he wasn't really Welsh.


	12. Surprise Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince is in huge trouble for sneaking off to the ball to be with Howard. It looks like it's all up for our hero, until he's sent to see someone who can literally change his life in an instant.

“You know this boy?”, the head of the guards demanded, shoving Vince forward.

“Why, yes. This is Vince Noir, who's been missing all night after an accident”, replied Mr Gorton in surprise. “Vince, what happened to you?”.

Vince hung his head, and looked ashamed.

“I'll take things from here. Thank you for bringing Vince back safely”, Mr Gorton said with a note of finality. “Vince, go and wait for me outside my office, please”.

Mr Gorton let Vince have a good ten minutes sitting alone and fearful before he unlocked his office door, and ushered Vince through, gesturing for him to take the chair opposite.

“Now, Vince. You were sent out of the kitchen with an injury, so what happened when you reached the nearest medical station?”, Mr Gorton said, sounding business-like but not cross.

“I never got to one”, Vince mumbled. “I … I ran into a strange man, and he healed me”. He held up his finger to show there was no wound or scar on it.

“Really? How did he heal you?”, asked Mr Gorton sceptically.

“I think it was by magic”, Vince said. “I don't know what he did – my finger was just better”.

“Really, that sounds like a cock and bull story, Vince”, said Mr Gorton. “But let's leave that for now. After you'd supposedly been healed, why didn't you go straight back to the kitchen?”.

“I … I … wanted to see the grand people going into the banquet”, said Vince, “and I wanted … wanted to see them at dinner”.

“So on one of the busiest nights of the year, you abandoned your post simply to go skylarking about, peeping and prying upon your betters?”, said Mr Gorton angrily.

“I'm very sorry, Mr Gorton. I knew it was wrong”, Vince said.

“Vince, if you were a very young boy, just arrived at the palace and eager to see royalty, I could forgive this”, said Mr Gorton. “If you were ten years old, I would have given you a little scolding, and explained why what you did was wrong. But you're a grown man, you're nearly eighteen. You've been working at the palace for years, and you did this deliberately, apparently on a whim”.

“I promise I'll never do it again, Mr Gorton”, Vince said.

“You shan't be given the opportunity”, said Mr Gorton severely. “I can't possibly have people I don't trust in the kitchen, especially ones who shirk their tasks and use deception to get out of work. I'm giving you one week's notice, and then I want you gone. And for the week that you remain here, I hope that you'll apologise to the rest of the staff for your actions, and do what you can to make it up to them”.

“Thank you for giving me one week to get myself sorted, Mr Gorton”, said Vince in a tired, dead voice, and then he went up to bed. It was already dark in the dormitory, and nobody spoke to him, pretending they were asleep. Vince lay awake for a long time, wondering if this was the start of going to a bad end, because he'd kissed Howard without being offered a vow of holy union.

**********************************************

Vince's fellow servants sent him to Coventry for the week. They were furious and disgusted with him for sneaking out on a night when there was so much work, and for such a stupid, childish reason. Innogen was only twelve, and she would never dream of trying to peek at royal guests in the palace; she knew that was very wrong. And pretending to have cut his finger to get out of the kitchen was a low act.

The only person who stuck up for him was Niniane. She insisted she had actually seen the blood pouring out of his finger, and he hadn't made that part up. She said that maybe he _had_ been healed by some weird fellow roaming about, and she wouldn't be a bit surprised if he'd done something to Vince's mind as well, made him act in a completely mad and moonstruck way. She said Vince had always been a good friend to them all, and they had no reason not to believe him now.

The other servants told Niniane if she didn't shut up, they'd send her to Coventry too. She flounced off in a huff, but did shut up about it, and didn't speak to Vince. She wasn't stupid enough to commit social suicide for someone about to leave. But if anyone complained about Vince, her mouth got a dangerously closed look, as if it had been snapped shut upon the words she wanted to say.

It was a hard and lonely time for Vince. With everyone ignoring him, he had plenty of time to brood about Howard, and sigh over their kiss. But he had to be practical and think about what to do next. He had ten gold coins saved, enough for a room at an inn, and to buy some art supplies. He would have to spend all day drawing and painting, and sell everything he did, just to make enough to live. He wouldn't give up – he would wash dishes and sweep floors to pay for his room, he would sell clothes pegs dollies or bunches of flowers on street corners to get by.

The day after Howard's birthday party, a proclamation went out from the palace, saying that they were urgently seeking a young woman named Blackbird McNight, believed to be a circus performer, who had mysteriously disappeared. They were concerned for Miss McNight's welfare, and asked anyone who knew her whereabouts to contact the palace, with a rich reward for anyone able to produce Blackbird. Gossip said that the prince had fallen in love with the girl, but lost her. It was one of the most romantic and mysterious things to happen in Camden Town for many a year.

Only Vince knew that there was no point looking for her, because she didn't exist. She wasn't even a girl, and the prince had set his heart upon a phantom. That's what he told himself, anyway.

*****************************************

Four days after the banquet, Vince was helping to clean up after breakfast when Mr Gorton came to him, looking as if he'd seen a ghost.

“Vince, there's someone in my office to see you”, he said nervously. “Stop what you're doing and go there straight away. Don't keep them waiting”.

Vince stared, and wondered if Naboo and Bollo had come to see him. He almost ran to Mr Gorton's office, tapped on the door, and came in when a man called to him. He stood in the doorway, unable to believe it. It was Howard, looking extremely tall standing behind Mr Gorton's desk with his hands behind his back. He was wearing a pair of brown corduroy trousers, an old cream Aran knit jumper, and riding boots. His curly brown hair looked messy and windswept, as if he'd already been out on his horse.

“Your Highness”, said Vince, giving a deep bow, and closing the door behind him.

“Gorton told me your name is Vince. Is that right?”, Howard asked, idly turning over pages on the desk.

“Yes, sir. Vince Noir, sir”, Vince said.

“Nice name. Is that the name you've always had?”.

“Yes, sir. My parents called me Vince, sir”.

“I believe I have something of yours, Vince”, said Howard, producing a silver shoe from behind his back. “Do you recognise this?”.

“How … how did you find me?”, Vince stammered.

“It was obvious, really. The head of the guards came back and told me they had only managed to find a boy from the kitchens wandering about barefoot, and returned him to Mr Gorton, none too tenderly”.

Vince gave a rueful look at the memory.

“I asked him what the boy looked like. He said of middling height, thin, long-nosed, fair-haired, pale-skinned, with large blue eyes. I thought it had to be you, and came to see Gorton this morning, asking if he had any kitchen boys of that description. He said there was only one it could be – a boy named Vince Noir he had just sacked for prowling around at night, with a feeble story of being healed by a strange man, and wanting to see royalty at their banquet”.

“I'm sorry, sir. I'm truly sorry”, said Vince, feeling as if he was about to start crying.

“Your godfather knows magic, doesn't he?”, Howard asked casually.

“Yes, sir. He gave me potions to change my appearance”.

“He changed you … into a girl?”.

“No, sir. I was a boy all along, sir”, Vince said. “The potion only changed my hair colour, and the clothes I was wearing”.

“Have you got the other shoe?”.

“Kicked it under a hydrangea bush, sir”.

“The story you told me about your grandmother leaving you money, only the lawyers took it all. That was true?”.

“Yes, sir”, said Vince, looking straight into Howard's eyes.

“Then Vince, I am afraid my family has wronged you terribly”, said Howard sombrely. “Because it means that our lawyers took your money, and forced you to work in the palace kitchens”.

“That wasn't your fault”, Vince said.

“Vince, please believe me when I say my father had no knowledge of this”, Howard said earnestly. “Father was appalled when he was told about it, and he has got rid of that law firm. The palace uses Tolpuddle and Charter now. And Father has instructed me to offer you this”.

Howard took a heavy leather purse from his pocket, and tossed it onto the desk. Vince looked confused, and didn't pick it up.

“It's two thousand gold coins, Vince”, said Howard. “Enough for you to buy a house, and start a business. Or you might like to travel, or study. It's up to you what you do with it”.

“But it was only two hundred gold coins, sir”, said Vince, still not touching it. “That's too much money.”

“Think of it as compensation for the theft of your childhood, and for the suffering you endured”, Howard said.

Vince eventually picked up the purse, but he didn't open it or look at the money.

“And there's something else, Vince”, Howard said, with the face of someone determined to the right thing, no matter how distasteful it is. “You said that you fell in love at first sight a few years ago, but the man in question went abroad the next day”.

Vince looked up sharply, but only nodded.

“I will send messengers through all the twelve kingdoms and seven empires, searching for this man”, Howard said, as if reciting a lesson he had learned by rote. “I will not rest until you are reunited with him, and have your chance at true love”.

“There's no need to do that”, Vince said at last. “Really, there isn't”.

“Only tell me the man's name, Vince, and I will have the messengers sent forth immediately”, Howard insisted.

“His name? He told me his name was Parsley”, said Vince, and gave Howard an impudent little smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sent to Coventry: a form of social exclusion used as punishment where people not only refuse to speak to you, they pretend you don't even exist, and anyone who does acknowledge you is likewise sent to Coventry. It is not known why the name of the city of Coventry is used in this way. It was originally (?) used amongst army officers as a way of punishing people who'd done something wrong, but too petty to receive a court martial. 
> 
> The Tolpuddle Martyrs and The People's Charter were important to the fledgling 19th century union movement in the UK. It sounds as if Tolpuddle and Charter are lawyers who will do everything they can to protect the rights of the poor and downtrodden – very unusual for palace lawyers.
> 
> I feel vaguely as if the twelve kingdoms are British and Western European countries, while the seven empires represent the East, such as Russia, China, Arabia, and Persia. There's no mention of the colonies … perhaps they're implied, or perhaps once someone takes themselves off to the colonies, they cannot be tracked.


	13. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince and Howard go back to the place where they first met, to discover how much has changed.

“You were the boy in the stables”, said Howard, staring at Vince as if another piece of the puzzle had fit into place.

“Yeah”, said Vince.

“And you … fell in love with me? That same day?”, Howard questioned.

“Yes. Only, when I asked around, everyone said there was nobody named Parsley at the palace”, Vince said.

“Ah, but there was!”, Howard said with a smile. “Parsley is my confirmation name. I had just been confirmed in the Temple of the Yeti, and received my confirmation name from the Yeti priestess. I was obliged to introduce myself as Parsley for an entire moon cycle”.

“Oh, I'm so glad there really was a Parsley!”, said Vince with a delighted giggle.

“Look, I don't really want to hang around Gorton's office all morning”, said Howard abruptly. “Would you like to come for a walk with me, little man?”.

“Yes please, Howard”, said Vince shyly.

“Gorton!”, bellowed Howard, bending his head as he opened the office door where Mr Gorton sat on the bench outside, looking like a schoolboy sent to the headmaster. “Did you sack Vince here?”.

“Yes I did, sir. Was that wrong of me?”, gasped Mr Gorton, his face pale and frightened.

“No, that was perfectly alright”, said Howard. “Vince will be leaving now. I have paid him compensation for the money our corrupt lawyers stole from him several years ago, forcing him to work in the kitchens. I hope you were not involved in this shameful episode in any way”.

“Sir, I had no idea it wasn't all above aboard”, said Mr Gorton, looking shocked. “I trusted the palace's lawyers implicitly, and I apologise to Vince, and to the royal family itself, if everything wasn't as it should have been”.

“Vince, did Gorton ever treat you amiss?”, asked Howard, drawing himself up to his full height.

“No, I don't think so”, said Vince thoughtfully. “I would say he was strict, but fair. I never heard of him ill-treating anyone, and he offered my Granny a job when she had nowhere else to turn”.

“Yes, thank you, Vince”, said Mr Gorton, looking at Howard more defiantly. “I have always tried to do the right thing by Vince, and everyone in the kitchen. A kitchen needs to be run by someone strict, or it soon becomes lax and dirty”.

“Well, I think you're a slippery character, Gorton, but you seem to have slipped free once more”, said Howard. “Just be grateful I didn't look too closely into the kitchen accounts”.

“Sir! With the greatest respect, there is absolutely nothing wrong - “, began Mr Gorton indignantly, but Howard had already pushed past him, holding onto Vince by the shoulder.

“Are these the portraits of me the poor staff have to look at every day?”, asked Howard, wrinkling his nose in disgust at one that showed a handsome man with glorious chestnut curls and an odiously smug expression, apparently in poetic contemplation of a single rose. “They're revolting”.

Vince gave a shocked giggle as Howard led him down the hallway towards the door, where he was farewelled with deference by the porter and the guard.

“Er, yes. Keep up the good work, men”, said Howard vaguely, and then he and Vince were out the door at last.

It was a beautiful spring morning with little white clouds scudding across a pale blue sky, and fresh breezes blowing the scents of blossoms around every corner. Vince gave a grin at the thought he wasn't working in a kitchen any more, as Howard slipped his fingers through his, and led him down a quiet avenue of linden trees, their flowers smelling richly of honey and lemon.

“So, did you really fall in love with me at first sight?”, asked Howard, almost pleadingly.

“Yes. I even had fantasies about you”, said Vince with a wicked smile.

“Really? Tell me all about them”, said Howard in a deliciously suggestive voice.

“I hope you won't be shocked, but I used to fantasise that you made me your … valet”, laughed Vince.

“Oh yes. I remember you asked me about that”, Howard said.

“Did you fall in love with me, Howard?”, asked Vince hopefully.

“Well, no. You were only a little boy”, Howard explained.

“I was twelve”, Vince informed him. “The same age as Matilda when she became betrothed to Pedro, and you were one year older than Pedro was then”.

“I don't think Pedro was in love with Matilda when she was twelve – they were just very good friends”, said Howard. “Besides, I thought you were closer to eight”.

“Well, I was twelve, and quite old enough to fall in love”, said Vince, pretending to sulk, so that Howard dropped a light kiss onto his forehead.

“I tell you what though, Vince. I went to my father, and asked if you could come to Denmark with me”, said Howard.

“You're joking. Doing what?”, Vince asked in amazement.

“Anything, it didn't matter. You could clean my shoes for all I cared. I just wanted you out of the kitchens”, Howard said. “Father and I had a blazing row about it, actually. Then he told me my diplomatic meeting in Denmark wasn't my real mission. That was in sealed orders, which I could only open once I was in Copenhagen. I opened them on the spot, and discovered that my real mission was to set sail for the polar regions, to find new trade routes and trading partners. It was far too dangerous for a little boy”.

“You've been to the polar regions?”, asked Vince, his eyes huge with wonder.

“Yes, Vince. I have travelled the vast frozen tundra, and gone further north than anyone else in history”, said Howard seriously. “I lived in fear of my life every day, and often wished that my father had not sent me. But by the end, I had become a man, and that was the real purpose of my journey. A king must be strong to lead his country. He must know adversity, starvation, and hardship, or else how can be understand the sufferings of his people?”.

“Then you're a hero, Howard”, said Vince, looking worshipful.

“I eventually ended up in the Kingdom of Gideon, where ruled my second cousin Otto, and became good friends with his daughter and only child, Dorothea. Unfortunately, Otto suddenly died during my visit, and his younger brother Marcus took the throne. Marcus was very hostile to Dorothea and treated her badly – probably worried that she would try to set herself up as queen. I escorted her to the court of the Emperor Boris for safety”.

Just as Howard reached this point in his story, the avenue came to an end, continuing as a simple walking track down to the stables. Howard asked if Vince would like to go for a ride, and Vince eagerly agreed, walking along the line of stables to say hello to all the horses.

Howard showed Vince his new horse, Arran having to be left in Copenhagen as he wasn't suited to polar exploration. The new horse was a splendid white Andalusian stallion named Cygnus, a birthday gift from Howard's Uncle Ferdinand, the king of Spain.

Vince asked Cygnus if he was happy in Camden, and Cygnus said he was settling in nicely, and adjusting to the cooler climate. The stable hands were positively spoiling him, and he would soon get fat and lazy if he didn't have more exercise.

“See? Absolutely demanding to be ridden”, said Howard with a smile. He tugged his jumper over his head, revealing a navy blue linen shirt underneath it.

Vince chose a grey horse as his own mount, the colour reminding him of his beloved pony Finn. The grey horse said his name was Lloyd, and that he used to be Matilda's, until she ended up preferring a jennet given to her by Prince Pedro.

“Lloyd is an Arabian horse with quite a bit of Welsh cob in him” Howard said, as he looked over Vince's choice. “You couldn't find a stronger, braver horse in the stables, nor a gentler one either. I always thought Matilda was a bit of an idiot to give him up”.

Howard and Vince saddled and bridled their horses themselves, then mounted and rode into the large green field that Vince remembered from before. They galloped their horses and raced each other, Howard coming second in a two-person race once more. Vince was quick to say that he only won because he was lighter, and because Lloyd was a faster horse.

They trotted down to the forest that they had only circled before, and Howard suggested they walk their horses through it to cool them down. They reached a shady circle of trees and dismounted, letting their horses graze as they sat together on a grassy hillock. Howard said the bluebells smelt like heaven, as they did every spring, and Vince said that they should be very quiet, so that the rabbits would feel safe enough to approach them. Sure enough, a few curious bunnies came near, wuffling their little noses.

Howard was sitting so near that Vince could feel his body heat, but they didn't touch. Vince was very aware of Howard's hand, outstretched on the grass, and how close it was to his own thigh. Vince unconsciously leaned forward so that he was even closer to Howard's hand.

“Vince, why did you fall in love with me?”, said Howard quietly.

“Because you were nice to me, and funny, and made me feel safe, and I liked your deep voice and little shrew eyes and your smile like a wolf”, said Vince. “But then later I realised you'd just been having a joke, pretending you weren't the prince, and saying the prince was stupid and hopeless”.

Howard looked sober. “It wasn't exactly a joke, Vince. That's really how I saw myself. A hapless young fool, awkward and long-limbed and tongue-tied. I could never imagine myself ruling the kingdom, and felt sick whenever I thought about it. Still do, sometimes”.

“So you really did fall down the stairs on top of the Queen of Norway?”, Vince asked with a giggle.

“Yes. It was only Great-Aunt Ingrid of course, but still pretty embarrassing”, Howard said.

“I feel better knowing that you weren't really lying, or playing a joke on me”, Vince said, looking up at Howard from under his long eyelashes.

“You know, Vince, even after I realised I couldn't take you with me, I still tried to get you out the kitchens”, Howard said in an undertone. “I went to Gorton, and told him there was a child about eight in the kitchens named Obsidian that I wanted trained as a page boy. I described you to him, and he must have known who I meant, but the pig-headed bastard insisted he had no boy named Obsidian, and none so young.”

“It's my own fault”, Vince whispered. “If I hadn't been so silly, and made up a name for myself to impress you, I could have led a completely different life”.

“I still think Gorton is a snake in the grass”, said Howard. “But at least I managed to get the second assistant cook sacked for beating you”.

“Thanks, Howard”, said Vince. “Life was better for me after he left. He was a nasty little bully who liked picking on me”.

“All this time I've been thinking of you as a little boy, but you're grown up now”, said Howard. “I don't even know how old you are”.

“I'll be eighteen in a couple of weeks”, Vince said.

“Really? That's wonderful”, said Howard in delight. “I'll throw you a birthday party. We can dance together again”.

“Howard, you can't keep doing nice things for me”, Vince protested.

“I don't think you realise how much my family has to atone for”, said Howard. “I expect you could take the money we've repaid you, and use it to hire a really good lawyer to sue us for millions of gold coins”.

“I don't want that”, said Vince, tearing savagely at the grass with his fingertips.

“What _do_ you want?”, Howard asked.

“I want … I want to be something to you. I don't know what”, said Vince in frustration. “But I know I don't want to be … someone extra in your life”.

“Not sure I really follow”, Howard admitted.

“I mean, when you're married to Princess Dorothea ...”. Vince trailed off.

Howard stared at him. “Vince, I didn't bring Dorothea here to marry her”, he said, forgetting to speak quietly; the rabbits retreated a little. “I brought her here because she was desperately unhappy”.

“Oh? Why?”, asked Vince, not as if he really wanted to know.

“Well, she missed her father, naturally. And … look, this is really her business, and I shouldn't say anything”, said Howard awkwardly. “But she and her lady-in-waiting, Lady Sybil Blessingberg, are very much in love, and have been for years”.

“Oh!”, said Vince in surprise.

“She was alright when under her father's protection”, Howard went on. “But the Emperor Boris has a real bee in his bonnet about it. I mean, women with women, and men with men. The Russians are terribly against it, for some reason”.

“What did Princess Dorothea do?”, Vince asked worriedly.

“She felt very unhappy in Moscow, being forced to hide her feelings for Lady Sybil”, Howard said. “And Boris kept trying to marry her off to some ghastly Count Vladimir of Whatsit, or something”.

“So you brought her and Lady Sybil here so they could be under protection again?”, Vince asked, beginning to see the light.

“Yes, exactly. But … well, it didn't quite work out as I planned”, Howard said in some embarrassment. “Dorothea has become … quite attached to someone else, and I rather think … I think she might marry after all”.

“What about Lady Sybil?”, frowned Vince.

“Oh, she's still in love with Sybil. They'll still be together”, Howard said. “Dorothea would just have someone else as well. She says that love is not cut in half when you love two people, and that you give your whole heart to both of them equally”.

“And what does Lady Sybil think about that?”, asked Vince sceptically.

“She's all for it. She always told Dorothea she should marry and have children”, Howard said. “She even wanted Dorothea to marry me! I expect Sybil will get married too. She's very pretty, good-tempered, and a great wit. Lots of men would want her as their wife, even if it meant sharing”.

Vince considered this idea, which was new to him. He had seen three people in bed together, so he knew how _that_ worked, but he didn't think Niniane, Ursula, and Johnny had been in love with each other – just friends messing about. He didn't think Dorothea's philosophy would work for him, but maybe it worked perfectly well for other people.

“And is that what you want?”, Vince asked. “To be married, but have someone else as well?”. As far as Vince knew, that was normal for royalty.

“I'm afraid I'm not nearly as generous as Dorothea”, said Howard with a smile. “When I fall in love, I want to give my heart to only one person”.

He leaned over, and left a trail of kisses down Vince's throat. Vince rolled away and hid his blushing face from Howard, his heart thumping.

“Please don't make me beg”, Howard said gently. “Because I will. I'll grovel at your feet for a single kiss, if that's what you want”.

“I don't want you to do that, but … I can't kiss you, Howard”, muttered Vince into his hand, his face still turned away.

“You've already kissed me, you silly little titmouse”, smiled Howard. “I kissed you at the ball, and then you ran away. Remember?”.

“You didn't kiss me, you kissed Blackbird”, Vince insisted. “You fell in love with her, not me. You fell in love with her clothes, her jewels, her glamour”.

“You _are_ Blackbird”, said Howard softly, carefully turning Vince to face him. “I fell in love with the sweet, kind, funny person that you are, Vince. A person who loves horses, music, and dancing. With someone who has impossibly blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. And if you want to know the truth, you look pretty alluring in your kitchen uniform”. He began slowly undoing the buttons on Vince's white cotton shirt.

There was such a contrast between being courted by a besotted prince who was used to getting his own way, and Vince's fantasies of a friendly nobleman taking him into his bed out of pity, that it was overwhelming.

“I'm so sorry, Howard, but I promised my Granny I wouldn't kiss anyone”, cried Vince.

And then it all came out. How he had been born under the twin stars, which both promised great fortune, and threatened a life of misery if he didn't keep himself pure. How he had promised his Granny just before she died that he would never allow anyone to even kiss his lips except his true love. Howard listened, at first in bewilderment, as if none of this made sense to him, and then with a smile of greater understanding.

“So you see, Howard, I don't want to be like Agnes, and be passed around from one person to another, until I die after coming to a bad end”, said Vince unhappily.

“Oh, my sweet little titmouse”, said Howard tenderly, “don't you know that I'm abominably selfish, and far from passing you to someone else, would kill anyone who tried to touch you? Do you not yet understand that I love you, and only you, and want you forever and ever?”. He pressed his lips against Vince's hand.

Vince gave a little giggle.

“Are you laughing at me, Vince?”, asked Howard in a hurt tone.

“No, Howard. It's the rabbits”, Vince said with a laugh. “I can hear them talking, and they're … they're making crude remarks about us”.

“Then let's really give them something to talk about”, said Howard with a wolfish grin, pulling Vince into his arms and nuzzling him.

Vince yielded to Howard's lips, his hands, his body. The rabbits all ran away, and the smell of the bluebells grew ever more heavenly, until Vince thought he was almost dizzy from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> linden trees: otherwise known as lime trees, scientific name Tilia. In folklore, sometimes seen as trees for lovers, but also as trees where the truth will come out if you talk beneath them.
> 
> quite old enough to fall in love: I was thinking a bit of Queen Elizabeth II, who said she fell in love with her future husband, the future Prince Philip, when she was thirteen and he was eighteen, although they didn't date until she was twenty. 
> 
> Kingdom of Gideon: I imagined this as being around the Archangel region of Russia, within the Arctic Circle. Historically, it's been fairly ethnically diverse, inhabited at various times by Vikings, and Germanic peoples. I chose names that could be either German or Scandinavian for the royal family of Gideon. It's a minor kingdom under the control of the Russian Empire, so that Dorothea can flee to Moscow for protection in fear of her uncle.
> 
> Cygnus: Latin for “swan”, to suggest a horse that is royal, beautiful, and white.
> 
> Uncle Ferdinand: the older brother of King Peter, Howard's father. His son Pedro is named in honour of his uncle.
> 
> Lloyd: this name comes from the Welsh word for “grey”, suitable for his coat colour and heritage.
> 
> jennet (historical): a small Spanish horse with a smooth gait and gentle disposition, often chosen as a riding horse. 
> 
> Lloyd was a faster horse: Vince is being typically kind – Howard's Andalusian should have easily beaten Lloyd, even carrying a heavier load. Apparently Howard really isn't that great at horse racing, although Vince surely has an advantage being able to talk with his mount. Or maybe Howard let Vince win.
> 
> Great-Aunt Ingrid: King Peter's aunt is the Queen of Norway, suggesting that although his father's heritage is Spanish, his mother's was Scandinavian, as she seems to have been either Ingrid's sister or sister-in-law. 
> 
> page boy: basically apprentice footmen. They would be given light duties such as setting tables and emptying vases, or run minor errands. Cute or pretty little boys were chosen, so they could sit around looking decorative. As far as child labour goes, it was a reasonably sweet deal, and far less taxing than going to school, I would imagine. Although any time a child is chosen for a role because of its looks and has utterly no power at all, you naturally worry. I think Vince would have been well protected at Dalston Palace though, which had a reputation to uphold – especially as he had been selected by the Crown Prince himself. Page boy was the first rung on the career ladder to becoming a valet, so Howard was trying to make Vince's wish come true.
> 
> normal for royalty: until recently, being married but having someone on the side was extremely normal for royalty. Prince Charles is said to have reacted with fury to the suggestion (from his first wife) that he be the first Prince of Wales without a mistress.
> 
> titmouse: a small bird. Howard uses the word affectionately, as Americans use “chickadee”. 
> 
> bluebells and their heavenly scent: in folklore, associated with fairies and witches, and in Scotland at least, a symbol of everlasting love. I feel as if Granny Pelham, a fae witch from Scotland who's gone to heaven, is giving her blessing to Vince in this scene. 
> 
> rabbits: often chosen as familiars by witches. See above.


	14. The Birthday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch at the palace leads to something more, and another birthday celebration means a royal proposal is in the offing.

"Father, this is Vince Noir, the young man I told you about".

Vince gave a deep bow, and murmured, "Your Highness". He couldn't believe he was meeting the king in his private drawing room, and wondered uneasily if he could tell what Vince and Howard had recently been doing.

"Ah, Mr Noir. I'm so glad to meet you", said King Peter, slowly standing up and taking Vince's hand in a hearty handshake. He held Vince's hand very firmly, perhaps to help him balance. "I'm so ashamed of what was done to you, and I hope you will accept my personal apology. Is there anything I can do to help you?".

"You have been too generous already", said Vince shyly. "And please call me Vince, not Mr Noir".

"Of course, as long as you call me Peter, and not Your Highness", smiled the king.

"Father, may Vince come to lunch with the family?", broke in Howard.

"What an excellent idea", said King Peter politely. "Er, Howard, could you perhaps find some suitable attire ...?". He gestured vaguely around the room.

"Yes, Father. Come with me, Vince. We both need to get changed". Howard took Vince's arm, and led him firmly out of the drawing room, as everyone took leave of each other.

"That went well", Howard said in a pleased voice, as they walked down an endless blue corridor covered in priceless paintings.

"I can't come to lunch!", Vince said in horror. "Look at me!".

"It's alright, I'll get you some clothes", Howard said in his most soothing tones.

"And meeting the royal family ...".

"You already met them at my birthday party", Howard pointed out.

"That was Blackbird".

"They'll like Vince even better", Howard promised. By now they had reached the palace living quarters, and Howard bellowed out, "Lundy!". Vince wished he'd stop shouting at servants to get their attention. They weren't deaf.

"Yes, sir?", said a tall, thin, bald man with a thick white moustache, popping out of his private rooms.

"Lundy, this is my friend, Mr Noir. Could you find him some suitable clothes to wear to lunch at the palace?".

"I'll do my best, sir", said Mr Lundy. "Please, come this way, sir". Vince realised in a moment that he was the "sir", and followed Mr Lundy into a room filled with stacks of men's clothing.

"Now, sir", said Mr Lundy, looking Vince over. "I don't have time for a full measurement, but I think I can guess your size. Very slim, neither tall nor short. A surprisingly full seat for someone so thin, and strong thighs. I expect you have played some sport, sir".

"Horse riding, Mr Lundy", Vince said. "Although, when I was a boy, I liked a game of football".

Mr Lundy had been sorting through various piles of clothing, and came back, looking diffident.

"If sir will try this suit, we'll see how it fits".

Vince felt embarrassed getting changed in front of someone so superior as Mr Lundy, but he wriggled into the blue suit easily enough.

"Yeah, that's alright actually", Vince said, examining himself in a long mirror. "Thanks, Mr Lundy".

"If sir would be so kind as to hold still", said Mr Lundy, as he carefully made some minor alterations to the suit. At last he was satisfied, and stood back, saying "The blue brings out the colour of your eyes, sir. And now I'll add a scarf. Sir looks very whimsical in a rainbow scarf tied like a cravat, don't you agree? Now, try these shoes. A little heel, to give you height, sir".

Even now he wouldn't let Vince leave, but brushed and styled his hair, tisking over it needing proper looking after.

"For the sake of the gods Lundy, aren't you finished yet?", Howard fumed as he stuck his head around the door, now dressed in his own, rather baggy, suit. "We're going to be late".

"I do thank you for your patience, sir", said the unflappable Mr Lundy. "I've done what I can, and I think the young gentleman looks very suitable, sir".

"Yes, that's good", said Howard, giving Vince a quick up and down. "Come on, Vince. We've got three minutes".

"Thank you so much, Mr Lundy", said Vince with a smile. "You're an absolute fashion genius".

"I do my best, sir", said Mr Lundy. "One can do no more".

**************************************

Howard and Vince arrived at lunch in a small dining room with white panelling to find everyone else already seated. They all turned and stared at Vince, except King Peter, who immediately said, "Ah, Howard. You've brought your young friend to lunch".

"Um, everyone. This is a good friend of mine, Vince Noir", announced Howard. Vince waved, rather weakly.

"We're very informal here, Vince", said King Peter. "Please sit anywhere you like".

Howard and Vince sat down next to each other, and Vince found himself near Matilda, who sat at the opposite end of the table to her father.

Matilda immediately said, "Howard, you have a good friend already? You've only just returned to Camden".

"Oh, Vince and I knew each other before", said Howard. "Before I went abroad, I mean”.

“Really? Where did you meet, Mr Noir?”, asked Matilda.

“Er, in the stables. I mean, through horse riding. And please call me Vince, Princess”.

“If you will please call me Matilda”, the princess said with a charming smile. “But you must have been very young when you met each other”.

“That's right”, said Howard, with a slightly hunted expression. “Childhood friends. That's what we are”.

“Well, how very nice that you've run into each other again”, said Matilda, unfolding her napkin. “How did that happen?”.

“Oh, we were … out riding again”, said Howard. “There I was, galloping around on Cygnus, and there was Vince … um”.

“How interesting”, said Matilda sweetly. “And I suppose your horse is in the stables now, Vince?”.

“No, actually Vince doesn't have a horse”, said Howard. “Look, Vince. Would you care for some cold meat and salad? Please, help yourself. As Father said, we're very informal here”.

Vince helped himself to ham, cheese, potatoes, and salad, while Matilda obligingly poured him a glass of cold water.

“I hope you don't mind how utterly simply we live”, Matilda said to Vince. For a minute, Vince thought she was joking, and then he realised that by royal standards, this was probably as relaxed as it got.

“No, everything is delicious”, Vince assured her.

“Actually Father, Vince is turning eighteen in a couple of weeks”, Howard suddenly said. “I was wondering if I could throw him a party”.

Matilda looked stunned, but King Peter promptly said, “Wonderful idea. Have any kind of party you'd like, Howard. Talk to … oh, you know how to do it. Don't let me interfere”.

Vince said in embarrassment, “That's very kind, but I don't need a party”.

“My dear fellow, this couldn't be better timing”, King Peter said kindly. “You wouldn't believe how difficult it is, keeping the court entertained during the Summer Season. They need constant parties and dances, or else they begin gossiping and intriguing until we end up with a scandal of some sort”.

“I love parties”, announced Prince Pedro, who had been taken up with eating until now. “I was going to go home tomorrow, but if there is a party, I will wait until it is over”.

Matilda smiled in delight at the news she was going to spend another two weeks with her betrothed, and then she and Pedro began eagerly talking in Castilian together, apparently about a visit to the Spanish court Matilda was to make in the autumn.

“And er, Father”, said Howard, taking advantage of his sister's distraction, “I thought perhaps Vince could stay here until his birthday. Just until he er, gets back on his feet”.

“Of course”, said King Peter. “Dozens of bedrooms you could sleep in. Make yourself at home. My palace is your palace”.

“That's so nice of you, but I don't want to be a nuisance”. Vince gave Howard an agonised look.

“Nonsense. The more the merrier”, King Peter said genially. “It's nice having all you young people about. Howard and Vince, Matilda and Pedro, and Dorothea and Sybil. You must all stay as long as you want”. The king beamed at everyone.

Vince thought he was pushing it a bit, including Sybil and Dorothea as young people. He thought Sybil must be at least ten years older than he was, while Dorothea was even older than her. Perhaps that was still young, to someone King Peter's age. Vince also recalled that his Granny had told him that the king had been grieving since his wife's death, and rarely smiled. That was quite a few years ago, and Vince thought he seemed pretty chipper now. He had Dorothea on one side, and Sybil on the other, and seemed to find their conversation greatly diverting. Vince listened to a bit, but it seemed to be about German philosophy. He couldn't think what the king found so amusing.

********************************************

“This will be your bedroom, Vince”, Howard said, leading him into a beautifully appointed room with a four-poster bed and striped wallpaper. “I have to sleep in a stupid tower, but this is right at the foot of the stairs, so you'll be as close as possible”.

“Howard, why am I living at the palace now?”, Vince asked urgently.

Howard took his hands, and looked down into his eyes. “You know that I love you, and I want you to get to know me properly, and get to know my family. They already met you before, but I want them to know you as Vince”.

“They're not going to like it, me being a servant before”, Vince said warningly.

“Nonsense. Father knows, and he couldn't be happier you're here”, Howard said. “I don't want Matilda to know yet. She'd be terribly shocked and upset, and it really had nothing to do with her. She was only a little girl when it happened”.

“None of you had anything to do with it”, said Vince. “You did nothing wrong, and you've paid me back now. You don't have to keep giving me more things”.

“Now, you'll need a valet”, Howard said, completely ignoring the last part. “Do you mind having old Lundy? He's going spare at the moment, and he's really very experienced”.

“I'd love having Mr Lundy take care of me”, said Vince. “Who's your valet?”.

“Oh, you know me. Never could make one stick around”, said Howard. “I'll have some footmen fetch your things from the staff quarters”.

“Wouldn't it be easier if I got them myself?”, Vince asked.

“I won't have you fetching and carrying like a servant”, said Howard, in a very determined voice. “We forced you into servitude once, and I'll never let it happen again, Vince”.

Vince felt foolish explaining to two footmen how to find his belongings, and the exact hydrangea bush he'd kicked the second silver shoe under, but they listened seriously, and asked several questions to help them in their tasks. They didn't seem to think it was it at all stupid that they were getting Vince's things for him. Vince wondered what the kitchen staff would think when the footman showed up.

He had considered asking to have Gilbert brought to him, but Howard explained he would have to keep Gilbert in a cage and feed him himself. Vince thought that Gilbert was really better off running free in a kitchen and eating as much as he wanted, so he wrote a note to Niniane, explaining he was going to stay with an old friend for a while. He thanked her for her friendship over the years, and asked if she could take care of Gilbert, and pass on his best wishes to all the other kitchen staff.

Once his stuff arrived, he arranged it as best he could, and then he called Mr Lundy in. He needed a lot of new clothes and shoes, straight away.

“Of course, sir”, Mr Lundy said, a certain zeal shining out of his pale eyes. He had always wanted a young man he could mould and dress up to make beautiful and glamorous, and he thought at last he had found him.

*********************************************

Vince took part in all the palace daily life, learning how wealthy young people spent their time. There were tennis parties, cricket matches, games of croquet on the lawn, boating on the river. There was a tea party every afternoon, where Vince could eat as much cake as he wanted. In the evenings, there were formal dinners, followed by entertainments such as concerts, amateur theatrics, and dances. Vince heard the king's Welsh bard sing all of _The Ballad of Ziggy Stardust_ , and agreed with Howard that it was quite magical.

Vince enjoyed most of it. He was skilled at games once he knew what to do, and found it easy to talk to people at parties. He liked music, and dancing, and taking part in little plays, which he was told he had a natural talent for. He spent hours every day with Mr Lundy, choosing new outfits, and generally being pampered, and he had to admit that he revelled in having someone fuss over him and make him look nice. Vince would soak in a scented bubble bath for ages, then Mr Lundy would rub lotions into his skin, do his hair, and help him dress, so that he could arrive at the dinner table looking perfectly turned out.

Howard took Vince riding every morning. This should have been good exercise for them and their horses, but I'm afraid Howard and Vince usually rode straight to the woods to find pleasure in each other's arms. This morning, the ride was over even faster, because Mr Lundy had found a pair of tight yet soft black leather riding trousers for Vince, and given him a sky blue shirt to wear with it; Vince wore the shirt loose over the trousers, and rolled the sleeves up. Mr Lundy had given his hair a tousled look with a cheeky little fringe, and dabbed the tiniest bit of mascara on his long lashes to darken them, while his generous lips had a warm pink tinge to them.

Howard had eaten Vince up with his eyes, and Vince made sure to ride ahead of Howard, doing a lot of trotting so that Howard could see how the leather trousers outlined his buttocks as he rose in the saddle. Every once in a while, he would turn his head and give Howard a grin, as if knowing exactly where Howard was looking. It was all driving Howard predictably wild, and he suggested they go for a ride in the woods before they'd done any real riding at all. Afterwards, Vince lay in Howard's strong arms, his head pillowed on Howard's surprisingly smooth and hairless chest.

“What did you think, the first time you saw Blackbird?”, Vince asked lazily.

“Some people had told me that one day I would meet a woman I desired”, Howard said. “When I saw you, I thought, _This is it. I have met her_ ”.

“And when you found out I was a boy?”.

“It confirmed my suspicions and all made perfect sense”, Howard said, dabbing a little kiss on Vince's cheek. “What was the magic potion your godfather gave you, anyway”.

“It was supposed to turn me into your ideal fantasy”, Vince said demurely. “I thought there'd been a mistake when it was just me with dyed hair in a dress”.

“I do like black hair”, admitted Howard. “There's something so romantic about it, especially matched with blue eyes. Fair hair is lovely too, of course”.

“And the little dress?”, asked Vince slyly. “Do you usually go for men in pretty dresses?”.

“I like ones who are well dressed”, said Howard, flushing slightly. “You look beautiful in a dress, and you look beautiful in riding clothes, and you look even more beautiful wearing nothing”. A long, fervent kiss.

“Have you … have you had many men before me, Howard?”, asked Vince.

“Was I a playboy prince?”, said Howard drily. “No, I was a man of action. Trekking through the Arctic for years. Not too many romantic opportunities there”.

“But after that?”.

“I was in Russia, where I could have been imprisoned or executed for being with a man”, Howard reminded him. “I encouraged the rumours that I was courting Dorothea, to protect both of us”.

“Before that, then?”.

“Oh Vince, there might have been one or two in my youth”, said Howard tiredly. “But I could never trust any who seemed interested in me. There are many men, good-looking and very clever, who would do anything to get close to a prince, in order to further their own ambitions. You fell in love with me before you knew I was a prince. That's why you're different”.

“I was unhappy when I found out you were a prince”, Vince confessed. “Because I thought that meant I would never talk to you again”.

Howard traced his finger down Vince's cheekbone. “I've never kissed anyone except you”, he told Vince. “The first time was at the ball. Sorry if I made a mess of it”.

“Blackbird enjoyed the kiss very much”, said Vince with a little smile.

“How about you?”.

“I enjoy kissing you very much as well”, Vince giggled.

“No, I meant … I know you kept yourself pure because of your Granny, but weren't you ever tempted?”.

“A few times”, Vince said slowly. “I was tempted by both boys and girls, but I knew they weren't my true love. I didn't feel about them the way I felt about you”.

“I think you deserve someone better”, Howard said somberly. “Everything's so much more complicated because I'm royal. It's … much harder for us to marry the people we love”.

“Would you have married Blackbird?”.

“I would have done my damnedest”.

“And me?”.

“I'll do my damnedest, Vince”, Howard promised, his lips on those of the younger man.

*********************************************

Vince was watching a tennis match, waiting for his own turn at the nets. Matilda came and sat next to him with a polite greeting, dressed in a white pleated linen frock. She had two ladies-in-waiting who sat with her, and a middle-aged dark-haired woman that Vince had seen with her before. This lady was always dressed in black, and sat a few seats away from Matilda, although she made no secret of the fact that she was watching and listening to her.

“You know, Vince. It's a funny thing, but I feel as if I have seen you before”, Matilda said after a few minutes.

“I expect I've got one of those faces that people think they know”, Vince suggested.

Matilda laughed. “No, definitely not! Your face is very striking. I feel as if I saw you a long time ago”.

“You might have”, said Vince. “After all, I knew Howard many years ago. You could have seen me, and then forgotten it”.

“That makes sense”, agreed Matilda. “And yet, I also feel as if I met you quite recently”.

“You did”, Vince said with a smile. “I came to lunch about a week ago”.

Matilda gave a slightly forced laugh. “No, I mean, before that”, she said. “Well, I shall place you one day”.

“Are you playing tennis, Matilda?”, asked Vince.

“Oh yes, but later in the day, when it's cooler”, Matilda said. “I'm going to watch Pedro. He's frightfully good, I think”.

Vince could only give assent to that statement, and then he was joined by Howard, who dropped into the seat on the other side of him with a groan.

“Ugh, Father has kept me working hard, going through papers”, he complained. “It's so warm today that I couldn't concentrate, kept looking out the window and seeing you all having fun out here”.

“Do you think … do you think perhaps we're having too _much_ fun?”, Vince suggested hesitantly. “Our lives seem to be nothing but games and parties and entertainments and clothes”.

“Speak for yourself”, Howard grumped. “Father has me reading law and policy night and day, and everything he signs, I have to witness”.

“And I'm studying very hard indeed”, said Matilda virtuously. “I have lessons in Castilian every day, and must learn Spanish history, politics, literature, art, and culture, ready for when I am a member of the royal family of Spain. I also have lessons in etiquette and deportment”.

“Oh, I didn't know”, said Vince in surprise. “Maybe it's only me who isn't doing anything worthwhile”.

“You're leading the life of a young gentleman”, Howard said quietly, as Matilda spoke to one of her ladies-in-waiting. “The same sort of life you would have had if your parents had lived”.

“I don't know about that”, Vince said doubtfully. “We lived in the country, and didn't really have much money”.

“You're on holiday, Vince”, Howard said expansively. “Just enjoy yourself. You've worked hard, now give yourself a chance to relax”.

“What work did you do, Vince?”, Matilda asked, turning towards them again.

Vince looked embarrassed, and then Howard quickly cut in. “Oh, something utterly dreary, and not anything you'd be interested in, Tilly”.

“I think I would be”, Matilda said thoughtfully. “Try me”.

“I did menial labour”, Vince said after a while. “I hope that doesn't shock or disgust you, Matilda”.

“Of course it doesn't”, said Matilda at once. “There's nothing disgusting about honest toil. But I'm sure there's something else you'd rather do now”.

“Well … I've always wanted to be an artist”, Vince said. “I've done a little painting, and I wish I could learn to improve”.

“Nothing could be easier”, Matilda said. “We can send for art supplies, and you can take lessons, if you would like. Or you can just practice by yourself”.

“I'd like that very much”, Vince said, suddenly realising how much he had missed being able to sketch and paint.

Matilda then said she could see Pedro, and was going to watch him play on another court. She departed, accompanied by her faithful ladies-in-waiting, and the woman in black.

“Who's that lady that always follows Matilda about?”, Vince asked curiously.

“Senora de la Rosario? She's Matilda's duenna”, Howard said.

“What's a duenna?”.

“Well, it's a sort of Spanish thing. She goes everywhere with Matilda when she's not with family, to make sure she behaves correctly”.

“Matilda always seems very correct to me”, said Vince in confusion.

“Um. She's there to make sure … Matilda doesn't have improper relations with men”, Howard said uncomfortably. “Not even Pedro”.

“You mean, the duenna is there to keep Matilda … pure?”, Vince queried. “Until her wedding night?”.

“Um, yes. Pretty much”, said Howard, clearly wanting this discussion of his sister's virginity to be over.

“Well, what about me?”, Vince demanded.

“I think it's a bit late to get you a duenna”, Howard said jokingly. “And they're not for men, anyway”.

“Doesn't that seem unfair?”, Vince said. “Matilda can't talk to Pedro alone, while meanwhile we're meeting in the woods every day”.

“We didn't get to the woods this morning”, Howard said with satisfaction. “We didn't even make it out of the stables”. He looked around, and risked a little squeeze of Vince's thigh, in memory of the stables this morning, and how adorable Vince looked with straw in his hair.

“No seriously, Howard”, Vince said. “Why am I treated so differently to Matilda?”.

“You can't get pregnant, can you?”, Howard muttered into his ear.

Vince thought hard. It was obvious, now Howard said it. He couldn't get pregnant, he could never have a baby. He knew enough about royalty to know that kings and princes married chiefly so they could gain an heir to their throne, and princesses so they could produce an heir to another throne.

Howard would one day be the king of Camden, and he didn't have a younger brother who could rule after him, while his younger sister was destined for the throne of another country. If Howard married Vince, he would be without an heir, and the kingdom could be thrown into a constitutional crisis upon his death. Those were the bald facts, and there was no getting around them.

For the first time, Vince wished that Naboo's potion had turned him into a woman after all. Howard really needed a wife, not a husband.

******************************************

Another week went by. Howard sent servants to buy Vince the best art supplies possible, and he was promised a tutor. Howard was writing to an artist he knew of that he thought Vince would like – a Spanish painter living in Paris. Vince found that being able to paint for as much as he wanted each day kept him focused, and was a distraction from other problems. He didn't worry about not being able to have a baby while he was painting.

He sometimes thought he should follow Matilda's example and not see Howard alone, but was unable to fulfil that ideal. The nights were warm, and Vince was tortured, knowing that Howard was just up the stairs, yet completely out of reach, for his bedroom door had two guards on it. Vince spent every night longing for Howard, and when Howard called by, asking if he'd like to go for an early morning ride, his resolve crumbled. His skin was achingly hungry for Howard's touch.

Vince worked on a painting that showed two men together in the woods, their limbs bare, a great feeling of energy on the canvas despite the peacefulness of the scene. He left their faces almost blank, and hoped nobody could guess it represented he and Howard.

*****************************************

The morning of Vince's eighteenth birthday dawned bright and clear, promising to be a gloriously beautiful spring day, and rather warm. After their usual ride in the woods, Howard kissed Vince tenderly, telling him that he'd be busy for most of the day, working on Vince's party, and he hoped Vince didn't mind.

Vince didn't mind at all. He was planning on spending most of the day with Mr Lundy, getting ready.

“Now, sir. I think you'll really be pleased with how it's come out”, said Mr Lundy, holding up the mirror. He hadn't let Vince have a peep at the whole long process, and was only letting him look now that it was completely finished.

Vince held the mirror up to his face, and gave a long drawn-out sigh. Yes, there it was, just as he remembered. Mr Lundy had dyed his hair black as a raven's wing, straightened it, then spent hours making it look as if Vince had just got out of bed, and sleepily run a hand through his luxurious locks.

“Thanks, Mr Lundy. That looks exactly right”, Vince said with a smile. “You're a magician, you really are”.

“I only did my best, sir”, said Mr Lundy repressively.

“You don't have to call me _sir_ ”, said Vince. “You can call me Vince if you want”.

“That would not be suitable, sir”, said Mr Lundy with austerity. “And if sir does not mind me saying so, I hear that sir is going to have to get used to being called _sir_ ”.

“What do you hear, Mr Lundy?”, asked Vince, his cheeks turning pink.

“Servants gossip, as you well know sir”, said Mr Lundy enigmatically. “And if sir will forgive me the liberty of correcting him, it is not suitable for you to call me Mr Lundy. I would very much prefer it if you called me Lundy instead, sir”.

“Oh … of course … er, Lundy”, said Vince. “I'm sorry if I called you the wrong name. I thought _Mr Lundy_ seemed more polite”.

“I quite understand, sir”, said Mr Lundy. “You have much to adjust to, sir. I hope I haven't offended you, sir, giving you a little nudge in the right direction”.

“Not at all, er, Lundy”, said Vince, slightly bemused.

Mr Lundy had made Vince a white duck suit to wear to his party - “Nice and light, sir” - coupled with a deep blue satin shirt - “The blue will match your eyes, sir”. The white suit had blue stars sewn onto the arms and legs - “These touches of whimsy suit sir's personality” - and there were high heeled white boots - “Two inches, sir. A little more height, while not making sir actually tall”. A white broad-brimmed hat, which Vince wasn't too sure about because it partially covered up his hair, but - “Sir looks good in all hats”, Mr Lundy said very firmly.

Finally, Mr Lundy brushed a little kohl around Vince's eyes, brushed mascara onto his lashes, smoothed out his skin tone, and made his lips moist and pink. “It probably seems like a lot, sir. But the party is a little later in the day, and it will make your features stand out, even in shadow, sir”.

Howard came to collect Vince around five, saying he would escort him to the party. When they were alone, Howard whispered that Vince looked stunning, and couldn't resist giving him a furtive little kiss in a quiet corner. They walked the rest of the way arm in arm, Vince's eyes already shining with happiness as they went outside.

Vince had asked Howard for a picnic for his party. He didn't want to cause any fuss, and in his mind, a picnic meant sandwiches and cake packed in a basket, tea in a flask, and everyone sitting on rugs, perhaps followed by a game of cricket or a stroll down to the river in the cool of the evening.

It was, of course, nothing like that at all. There were velvet sofas for people to sit on, or big silk cushions for the more adventurous, Oriental rugs to walk on, and the luxurious food was arranged on tables inside white silk tents on the lawn. There were massive vases of lilac and pink roses, coloured lanterns hanging in the trees, and dozens of footmen to serve people.

“It was meant to be a simple picnic!”, Vince cried when he saw it all.

“I know, Vince. But Father can't sit on the ground, and if there was only a sofa for him, it would make him feel as it he wasn't part of it”, Howard said. “And ladies hate getting grass on their dresses, or their shoes. And Pedro stayed an extra two weeks for this – he'd be furious if he stayed longer just for some sandwiches on the lawn”.

Vince was easily persuaded by these arguments, and he had to admit everyone was having a wonderful time. In a moment, he was having one too. Howard had hired Mick Jagger and His Rolling Stones Orchestra, and soon Vince and Howard were dancing together to a song called _(Kings Always Get) Satisfaction_.

It was while people were helping themselves to strawberry trifle, meringues, and ice cream in the third tent that Vince happened to run into Matilda, shadowed by her duenna.

“May I get you a coffee?”, Vince asked her gallantly.

“That's so kind of you, Vince”, Matilda said, “but Pedro is already getting me one”.

“You're looking beautiful as ever tonight”, Vince said, for Matilda had on a simple golden-brown dress whose classic lines made her look like a dryad, or some goddess of the forest.

“And you ...”. Matilda gave a little laugh. “I was going to say you look beautiful too. What I meant to say is that you look very _handsome_. Dark hair really suits you”.

“I don't mind being called beautiful”, smiled Vince. “I like making myself pretty”.

Matilda's face suddenly brightened with comprehension. “I've recognised you”, she said in a choked voice. “I know who you are”.

At this awkward juncture, King Peter suddenly stood up and rang a loud bell, shouting, “I have an important announcement to make!”. Everyone obediently turned around to listen to the king, even those still eating trifle and meringues.

“This party is for Vince Noir's eighteenth birthday”, said King Peter. “But I'm afraid I'm going to be very selfish, and talk about myself for a moment. You see, Princess Dorothea of Gideon has just agreed to marry me. I can't imagine what she sees in me, but I couldn't be happier that this lovely lady will be one day be your queen, and the House of Luna and the House of Hoffman be forever joined. Please raise your glasses, and give a toast to the future Queen of Camden!”.

There was a buzz of gossip that ranged from “I knew it” to “I thought she was marrying the prince?”, and everyone stood up and raised a glass or a cup to Princess Dorothea, who stood beaming at the crowd, at a smiling Lady Sybil, and at her husband-to-be.

Howard suddenly stood up, and loudly said, “I'm so happy for you, Father. I couldn't think of a better wife and companion for you than my dear friend Dorothea, and I know she will be a queen of great understanding and wisdom”. There was scattered applause and a few cheers.

“I hope that you will likewise grant me happiness, Father”, Howard continued, “for I ask your permission to marry Vince Noir, a young man of good family, with the truest heart there ever was”.

Matilda gave a little gasp, and Vince tried to tell her he knew nothing of this, but no words came out.

If Howard had been hoping to take his father unawares and force him to agree by putting him on the spot in public, he was to discover King Peter was not so easily manipulated . The king looked straight at his son and said, “I can well understand the need to be with the person that you love, and believe me, Howard, your happiness is very important to me. But we have many things to discuss together. Please join me in my drawing room, that we may come to understand each other better”.

As if in a daze, Vince watched Howard try to take his father's arm, King Peter pointedly shaking off his son's offered support, and then the two men walked into the castle together, Howard's face already pale and worried.

Vince was left surrounded by a crowd of people thrilled at this even juicier gossip, Princess Dorothea looking irritated that she had been upstaged, and Princess Matilda staring at him coldly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story doesn't make it explicit, but Howard and Vince's birthdays are the same as Julian and Noel's – on the 4th and 21st of May.
> 
> Duenna: not really a “Spanish thing”; the word is English, not Spanish. Chaperones for unmarried girls were common in most countries until recently, but there is a stereotype (perhaps not unjustified) that Spain was especially strict. The Spanish royal family have presumably employed Senora de la Rosario to ensure that Matilda remains a virgin until her marriage, and have done so since she became engaged at the age of twelve. Vince only notices her when he sees Matilda apart from her family – the duenna would not be necessary when Matilda is accompanied by her father or brother. I cannot decide who is the more to be pitied – Matilda, who has been rigorously groomed for her role and kept under surveillance, or Senora de la Rosario, a probably poverty-stricken but high status widow forced to follow a teenager around for years in a foreign country, and barely acknowledged as even existing. 
> 
> Art tutor: the Spanish painter living in Paris might be Salvador Dali.
> 
> House of Hoffman: Yes, Dorothea's unpleasant Uncle Marcus is none other than Marcus Hoffman!


	15. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The traditional ending to a fairy tale is called for … will Vince get what he deserves?

"Is it because I'm a man?", Vince asked miserably.

"No, Vince. Royals can still marry their own sex if they choose", Howard assured him. He tightened the arm he had around Vince, and kissed the top of his head. "My distant ancestor, King Ugbert the Fretful, married a fourteen-year-old duke named Pippin".

"Did they live happily after ever?", Vince asked wistfully.

"Well, not really, because they both died of the plague two years later", Howard said. "But that won't happen to us".

"Don't you need someone who can give you an heir?", Vince asked.

"That's the great thing about Father marrying Dorothea. With any luck, I'll have younger siblings who can take the throne if I happen to pop off", Howard said encouragingly.

"Can Dorothea still have children?", Vince asked dubiously.

"Of course she can, my silly little titmouse. She's only ten years older than me", Howard said. "Years of childbearing left in her. And before you ask, yes, Father is still capable of becoming a father again. Men of his age do it all the time".

"And what happens if they don't have any children?", Vince said, as if determined to be pessimistic for once.

"Well, it will prove you don't need to produce offspring to marry a king", said Howard cheerfully. "And Matilda will probably have children. I could name one of my nephews or nieces as my heir".

"Really?", said Vince, beginning to look hopeful. "You can do that?".

"Easily", said Howard. "They'd probably have to be brought up in Camden though, so they can learn the language and culture, and be accepted by the people".

"I wouldn't mind bringing up Matilda's son or daughter", Vince said, a new way of becoming a family opening itself up to him.

"Good. So you see, it's not a problem at all", Howard said.

"What is the problem, then?".

Howard shifted about uncomfortably. "It's going to sound rather awful, I expect", he said slowly, "but according to law, a royal cannot marry a commoner. They have to marry someone of noble blood at least, if they don't marry someone else who's royal".

"And I'm too common", Vince said bitterly.

"We don't know that, yet", Howard said bracingly. "You have to meet with Mrs Green, the court genealogist, tomorrow and go through your family tree with her thoroughly".

Vince didn't hold out much hope, as he barely knew anything of his family to tell the genealogist, but Howard kept hugging and kissing him, and telling him to trust in his twin stars of good fortune. They said goodnight, but Vince didn't sleep very well.

When Mr Lundy came in with his early cup of hot tea and crisp toast, ready to run his bath, he took one look at Vince, and said, "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, you don't seem quite yourself this morning".

Vince tried to wave him away and eat his toast, but Mr Lundy was not to be waved so easily.

"I take it sir, that you're anxious about what the court genealogist will say about your family tree", Mr Lundy suggested. "That you're worried you won't be able to marry Prince Howard".

"How do you know about that?", Vince asked, through bites of toast.

"Servants gossip, as you well know, sir", Mr Lundy said with a faint smile. "But I think you have every reason to remain hopeful, sir. I can tell good quality, in a suit, or a hairbrush, or a person, and my nose tells me you're a person of quality, sir".

Vince thanked him mournfully, while Mr Lundy ran his bath and filled it with scented bubble bath. He laid out a suit of clothes for Vince that he thought would be appropriate. A charcoal grey suit with a crisp white shirt and a pale grey tie. Black shoes, no heel, and pale grey silk socks.

"Neat and professional, sir", he commented. "Yet humble and retiring, too. No make-up today, and your hair brushed neatly, nothing else. There must be no pretence about you, sir. Nothing to draw the eye".

As he brushed Vince's black hair until it was smooth, he went on, "Just tell Mrs Green everything you know, sir. Don't invent anything to cover a gap in your knowledge, or try to sound grander than you are. On the other hand, sir, don't make yourself sound less grand than you are. Be straight with her, and she'll be straight with you, sir".

It was the most Mr Lundy had ever said, and Vince was grateful for his calm, sensible advice. After breakfast, Vince was able to go to Mrs Green when he was called, feeling as if he was going for a job interview – which in a very real sense, he was. Granny Pelham had said to never go for a job when you were hungry and desperate. Well, he'd had a good breakfast, so he wasn't hungry, and must try not to seem desperate, as if he'd pine away if he couldn't be with Howard.

He told the Mrs Green what little he knew. His parents had been Robin D'Arcy Noir, and Evelina Linnet Noir; his grandfather had been Peregrine Noir, the lord of Cronkshaw Manor in the hill district of the Southlands. He was sorry he didn't know any more, but his parents had died when he was only a little boy, and they had never talked about family or relatives with him. He understood that they were all dead, as there had been nobody to take him in after his parents passed away except the old lady who cooked and cleaned for them.

Mrs Green said it wasn't much to go on, but she would endeavour to research his origins as far as she could. Seeing something in Vince's face that touched her, she pointed out that there were fifteen noble families in Camden alone, and the chances of Vince being related to one were really quite good.

*******************************************

The next few days went slowly. Vince tried to lose himself in painting, and Howard took him riding, or for long walks, to get him out of the castle. By tacit agreement, they didn't go to the woods together. They didn't talk much, but gained comfort from each other's company.

At last, Vince and Howard were summoned to King Peter's private drawing room, and sat on a sofa together, holding hands for support.

King Peter looked at Vince and smiled. “I know you've had an anxious wait, so I thought I'd share the genealogist's findings with you at once, and put you out of your misery”.

“Thank you”, said Vince. He noticed his voice sounded rather hoarse.

King Peter broke the wax seal on the report, and read through it, before beginning to quote from it.

“ _The Noir family are respectable country gentlefolk who were the lords of Cronkshaw Manor in the Southlands for centuries. They are of that solid, practical minor landowning class, often shrewd, and frequently well-educated and courteous in manner, from which royalty may confidently choose for high office and public service, or even to run their castles and personal affairs. Alas, they are not such that royalty may ever marry_ ”.

Vince looked defeated, and Howard broke in urgently. “You can live with me as my friend or my favourite, Vince, or under any title that you wish. Or I can ab-”.

King Peter made a silencing motion, and kept reading, before he continued. “Mrs Green has more to say, however. It's quite good news. She writes that your maternal grandmother, Lady Margaret Finch-Hadley, was the daughter of the Earl of Shoreditch. Of course, you could never inherit the title, Vince, as the earldom doesn't devolve upon the female line, but it does prove you are of noble blood. And your maternal grandfather, Merlin Jacquettie, was the younger brother of Jean-Claude Jacquettie, the Duc de Montmorency in France. In fact, you and Howard are actually fifth cousins through your maternal lines. And there's nothing more royal than marrying your cousin”.

“So … may I marry Vince, Father?”, Howard asked.

“Yes, Howard. You may, and with my blessing”, King Peter said warmly.

“There's only one problem”, Vince said.

“Which is?”.

“You haven't asked me, Howard”.

“You're right, Vince. I didn't want to ask you until I had Father's permission”, Howard said.

He dropped to one knee, and held Vince's hand. “Vince Noir, you would make me the happiest prince in the world if you would consent to accept my hand in matrimony, and become my husband, wedded in holy union so that the House of Luna and the House of Noir be forever joined. Will you marry me, dearest Vince?”.

Vince had thought that if it ever came to this point, he would make a dignified speech accepting Howard's offer with grace, yet displaying understanding of the deep responsibility he felt towards the Kingdom of Camden. But as he looked into Prince Howard's pleading little brown eyes, his face went white with excitement, and all he could squeak out was, “Yes please, Howard”. That was quite enough for Howard, who gently kissed him in gratitude.

King Peter gave Howard his mother's sapphire and diamond engagement ring, and Howard slipped it onto Vince's finger. It was a little too tight, but King Peter said the court jeweller would fix that up in a twinkling.

“Wait a minute, Howard. Did you say your surname is _Luna_?”, Vince suddenly asked.

“Yes, Vince. The House of Luna rules Camden, and we're a cadet branch of the House of Encantador in Spain”, Howard explained. “ _Luna_ is Spanish for _moon_ , and the founder of our house, the hero Howard the Exile, is said to have led his army by moonlight in order to surprise the enemy”.

“It sounds like _loony_ ”, Vince objected. “I don't want to sign myself _Vince Luna_ ”.

“Don't worry, Vince. Royals never use their surname anyway”, King Peter assured him. “Believe me, I have no wish to sign myself _Peter Luna-Encantador Rex_ every time. My bally hand would get sore”.

King Peter summoned Princess Matilda, to be the first to hear her brother's news. She hugged Howard tight, and said, “Congratulations”, as she kissed his cheek. She then turned to Vince, and took his hand.

“I thought you were going to break Howard's heart, but instead you've made him about as happy as it's possible for him to be”, she smiled.

“You looked furious with me at the party”, Vince said.

“Only because I recognised you as Blackbird McNight – and realised I'd been alone in my bedroom with a man!”, said Matilda severely. “Imagine if Uncle Ferdinand and Aunt Charlotte heard about that. They'd call off my wedding to Pedro”.

“Well, don't tell them about it then, fathead”, said Howard, giving her a brotherly clunk on the forehead with his palm.

“And I recognised you again”, Matilda continued, slapping Howard out of the way. “You were the serving boy at my tea party. I came in, and saw your little beaky face peeking around the door. It was just for a moment, and I forgot about it, until I met you again”.

Howard explained how the palace lawyers had taken Vince's money and forced him to work in the palace kitchens, and that he had met Vince in the stables one day. Matilda was horrified and sympathetic, but also quite cross.

“If only you'd told me all this from the beginning, Howard!”, she complained. “It's time you stopped thinking of me as a silly little girl to be left out of all your secrets, and realised I'm a grown woman now. You should have trusted me to understand about Vince, and about Blackbird. I would have done everything to help you, and to make you happy”.

“I promise _I'll_ tell you all my secrets”, said Vince with a grin. “I always wanted a younger sister”.

Vince and Matilda became truly fond of each other, and he was delighted to learn how full of fun and laughter she was when in private with her family, so different to the aloof, correct princess she was in public. He needed to join her family to discover that.

But that was in the future, and now it was Dorothea's turn to be summoned so she could congratulate Howard.

“I'm very happy for you and Vince”, she said to Howard, shaking both his his hands warmly, “ but you must understand, my wedding will be first. No more stealing my limelight!”.

“And I'm very happy for you too, Thea”, said Howard. “Er, you _are_ quite sure about it, are you?”.

“Yes, Howard”, smiled Dorothea. “I know I have never loved a man before, but then, I did not meet Peter before. He is strong, intellectual, kind, funny, and very honest. And after all, I never loved a woman until I met Sybil, I never even thought of it. I have only ever loved two people, and I'm lucky enough to have both of them, and they are greatly fond of each other too”.

***********************************************

That summer and autumn there were surely enough parties and celebrations at Dalston Palace as to please even the most sociable, beginning with two betrothal parties – the king's coming before the prince's, of course.

Vince had to join the Temple of the Yeti, which was the religion all members of the royal family had to belong to. There were weeks of instruction, and then he was confirmed in a ceremony which took place in a deep forest, under the full moon. Vince thought it was like a midsummer night's dream.

He waited nervously to hear his confirmation name, which was to be given by the Yeti head priestess. She closed her eyes, then opened them to stare deep into his soul, and pronounced reverently, “Your true name … is … Blackbird!”.

Vince grinned to hear his true name, and smiled every time he introduced himself for the entire moon cycle. He did so numerous times at his confirmation party a week later, and everyone told him that the name suited him perfectly. Howard gave him a silver necklace with a blackbird pendant as a confirmation gift.

In July, King Peter wed Princess Dorothea of Gideon in the Wintertide Temple with all due pomp and circumstance, shortly followed by Dorothea's coronation as Queen Consort. King Peter then took his new bride on a honeymoon to Norway, so she could escape from the heat of a Camden summer, which was already making her wilt. Queen Dorothea took her lady-in-waiting with her, naturally, just as King Peter took his valet, secretary, and other personal staff.

As soon as the king and queen returned in October, it was time for Howard and Vince to be married in the Temple of the Evenstar. As it was a religious wedding, they wore their ceremonial robes of unbleached calico, wreaths of roses in their hair, and their faces painted with blue stars and daisies. Howard wore his hair in long, glossy curls, while Vince's hair was tied in two bunches.

It was a solemn occasion when Prince Howard Thomas Gerald of the House of Luna-Encantador promised to love and honour his beloved, Vincent Martin Noir, who had been bestowed the title Duke of Dalston in honour of his royal marriage, and soon became known as “the thin white duke”.

But that was nothing to the breathtaking moment when the roof of the temple slid back to reveal the night sky, and then Blackbird was wed to Parsley, under the moon and the stars, in a holy union blessed by the head priestess herself. The head priestess pointed out to the congregation that the twin stars, The Maiden and the Shepherd, were just rising when the couple exchanged vows, which was taken to be a sign of uncommon good fortune.

“So you see, Vince, I really did sort everything out for you”, Naboo said at the grand reception afterwards.

“I know, Naboo. Thanks for being the best shaman godfather ever!”, Vince said. “I would have been lost without you”.

“I know you would have been”, Naboo retorted. “And you've left the Temple of the Shaman, so now I can't help you no more”.

“You mean I'll never see you again?”, Vince asked in distress.

“Not if I see you first, ballbag”, said Naboo enigmatically, as he and Bollo disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

King Peter congratulated the couple, but said Dorothea was feeling most unwell, and the ceremony had been hard on her, what with all the standing up, and incense. If they didn't mind, he and Sybil were going to take her to bed and give her a cup of ginger tea, to see if that helped.

Howard and Vince left on their honeymoon the next day, spending a week in Paris so Vince could buy lots of clothes, and then they stayed in a castle overlooking the Cantabrian Sea, lent to them by Howard's second cousins Alfonso and Sancho, the Kings of Leon.

They had weeks of blue skies and sunshine, and made the fortunate discovery that they got on each other's nerves just enough to make life interesting, which is a very good thing to find out on your honeymoon. Because unless you have quarrels, how can you kiss and make up? And every night they uncovered fresh revelations about each other, which boded well for their future together.

In moments of deepest intimacy, they tended to call each other by their true names, and if you had lingered near the open window of the north tower of the Leonese castle, you might have heard: “Oh, my sweet Blackbird”, and “Yes, yes … please, Parsley ... _now_ … oh yes”. Because duke and prince were for the public, and Vince and Howard for private life, but Blackbird and Parsley were just for themselves.

Vince often saw Howard, in a pensive moment, take out an old leather-bound notebook and scribble a few lines. When he asked what it was, Howard would look vague, and say, “Oh, memoranda and such”, which Vince took to mean instructions to be passed on to others. Howard had brought his personal assistant, Nigel, and the poor man was spending most of Howard's honeymoon writing hundreds of thank you letters for all the wedding presents, and buying postcards and things in the nearest village.

One day, while Howard was taking a short nap in the sun, Vince glanced in the notebook and read:

_Your skin like rich cream, your eyes deep and blue as the sea_  
_I want to drown in them, I want to sink and swim and swallow_  
_The salt of you, the sweetness, to explore all your bays and cays,_  
_Your secret underwater caves where mermaidens sing to starfish_  
_Beneath the waves, the shining archipelago of the days and days_  
_We have before us, your kiss on my lips the answer to a wish ..._

Vince was astounded to discover that Howard had been writing poetry about him, and managed to cajole his husband into blushingly reading aloud more of his work.

_Alone was I in a land of endless ice and snow, I was a frozen island_  
_The wind my only friend, on an ice floe with nowhere to go._  
_My heart smote me, that I was compelled to live in isolation_  
_Until I was gifted the bright amazement of you, my polar star, my darling …_

Howard's poetry tended to run on like this, but Vince never got tired of hearing about his beauty, his perfection, his sweetness, and how much Howard cherished him. At Vince's suggestion, Howard set some of his poetry to music, and then Vince was able to be lullabied to sleep by Howard's deep voice with tender songs about himself.

Howard still didn't have a valet, but now Vince took care of his hair and clothes, and somehow Howard didn't mind so much when it was Vince running his bath and brushing his hair and rubbing lotion into his skin. He had a way of doing it very tactfully which told Howard that Vince would have actually made a very good valet. And Mr Lundy took care of Howard's washing, ironing and cleaning his shoes, and wasn't the type to break down and cry if Howard got in a mood with him.

Vince felt almost disappointed, when during their morning stroll along the ramparts one day, Howard said, “Well, I suppose we'd better think about leaving soon, or we won't be home in time for Yuletide”.

“I suppose we'll be living at Dalston Palace with your father and Dorothea”, said Vince. “But it's pretty big, so ...”.

Howard gave him a startled look. “Eh? No, didn't I ever explain to you, Vince? The Crown Prince has his own palace. I was only staying with Father while mine was being done up, since I'd been away so long”.

“Really?”, said Vince, brightening up. “Where is it?”.

“It's on the edge of Camden Town, in the suburbs, next door to where we got married”, Howard said. “I suppose you didn't notice it, as we got married at night. It's a big white palace on the river, with funny little towers like pepper pots, and it's got ten acres of gardens, and a deer park for hun-, I mean a park where you can make friends with deer, and stables and lakes and woods and all the usual things. Its name is The West Palace”.

“That sounds brilliant, Howard”, said Vince, looking dreamily out over the sea.

“I know this is going to sound a bit excessive, Vince, but you'll need your own personal bodyguard when we get home”, Howard said apologetically. “You can choose whomever you like from the palace guard”.

“I know exactly who I want”, Vince said unexpectedly. “In Camden Town, a bloke named Leroy. Year or two older than me. Great big bloke. I've known him since I was a kid, and I'd trust him with my life, Howard”.

Howard thought this seemed a bit dodgy, but he had messengers sent to find this mysterious character. They found Leroy working at the door of The White Horse Inn, throwing people out when they got a bit rowdy.

The messengers said he'd been chosen as the Duke of Dalston's personal bodyguard, and he was ordered to report to The West Palace at nine o'clock the next morning. Leroy said he wasn't in the mood for stupid practical jokes, and could they bog off, please, or he'd punch their bloody heads in?

The messengers must have been persuasive enough though (gold coins persuade most people), and a suspicious Leroy did come to the palace the next day, where they explained that Vince Noir, consort to the Crown Prince, was offering him the position of personal bodyguard, if he was interested.

Leroy looked around the palace with raised eyebrows, and said, “Blimey, I reckon old Pointy Face really _is_ proper posh after all”.

******************************************

Vince and Howard lived as happily ever after as is possible when you're a handsome prince married to a strikingly lovely duke living in a beautiful palace, which, as it turns out, is pretty damn happy. They went riding every day, and Howard secretly went looking for Vince's pony, Finn, to buy him back. Once he found him, there was a joyful reunion between the two old friends, and Finn became the pony that the royal children learned to ride upon. Vince hired The Amazing Sasha to teach them, and they could all ride bareback by the age of three, and ride standing on their hands by six.

Vince enjoyed painting, and his art tutor was extremely happy with his progress, but he was barred from ever becoming a famous artist. As Howard said, it would be in the worst possible taste to charge money for his work when he was already so wealthy, and he would never know if people bought his work because he was good, or just because he was royal. He had to be content being described as a “very talented amateur painter” by biographers, and donating the odd picture to charity.

Howard and Vince didn't have to worry about not producing an heir, because Queen Dorothea gave birth to Prince Otto the spring after her honeymoon, and then had Prince Sebastian a few years later. Having produced the traditional heir and a spare, the king and queen didn't think about children any more, until just as everyone assumed they were too old to have any more, they welcomed Princess Lucy, and doted on her just as much as you can imagine.

Matilda and Pedro were married in Madrid exactly six months after Vince and Howard, and they soon had children too. There was Prince Ferdinand, Princess Ellen, Princess Charlotte, Prince Pedro, Prince Alexander, and Princess Victoria, and how Matilda and Pedro were going to find royal spouses and kingdoms for all of them _I_ don't know. They certainly wouldn't have minded Howard and Vince taking one off their hands, I'm sure.

Lady Sybil Blessingberg didn't get married after all, saying she much preferred to be the mistress of a king and queen than the wife of a nobleman. She became famous for her salons, where gathered the great wits and thinkers of the day, such as the philosophers Jurgen Haabermaster and Rudi van DiSarzio. Her children were given the noble surname FitzPeters, and her son Alfred was created the Duke of Watford, while his sister, Lady Clarissa FitzPeters, grew up to be regarded as the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, and widely known as The Fair Maid of Camden.

In time, Howard ascended the throne, and Vince's title was upgraded to Prince in a coronation ceremony, so his mother was right after all, about him being Princey Vincey. Prince Vince made Mr Robert Smith the Poet Laureate, and Gareth Newman the official palace bard. Vince was a patron of the arts, and did a lot of charity work, especially in animal welfare. He started The Shepherd Foundation, which helps poor orphans by teaching them circus skills and paying for their apprenticeships, while The Duke of Dalston Award is given to the animal who makes the best speech every year.

King Howard ruled with dignity and wisdom, and was greatly beloved by his people. His original regnal name had been Howard the Explorer, but the palace chroniclers soon had to change it to Howard the Benefactor. Howard was able to pass quite a few laws to make people's lives easier, such as granting old age pensions to the elderly, stopping child labour, and providing free education for children – three things which would have made this story quite impossible, so I feel sure it can never have happened again. He banned hunting in royal forests, closed down the bad, cruel orphanages, and tried to make lawyers more honourable, but gave it up as a lost cause.

I won't tell you who ruled after him, or what happened to all his many relatives, or I will be writing history, not fairy tale. Suffice to say that Vince and Howard lived long lives, and loved every day of them together, which is the true essence of happy ever after. And every spring they went to the woods so they could smell the heavenly scent of the bluebells, although those woods are long gone, the area become a vast public park.

The West Palace in Camden Town is a museum now, and if you visit it, which I recommend, you will find a glass case in which are displayed the original silver shoes that Vince wore to the ball. And then you will know this was all a true story, but don't bother looking through archives or reading royal biographies, because that's frightfully dull work, best suited to toiling authors, and not carefree readers.

I hesitate to assign a moral to this work, because although Vince was a good-hearted, hard-working boy who never gave up, he only got his happy ending due to luck – the luck of having a good witch as a guardian, who bestowed upon him a shaman godfather. So may nature grant you the patience, optimism, talent, and strength necessary to make your dreams come true, and may life send the right people to help you, and then there's a good chance you'll live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugbert and Pippin: as these are Frankish names, it seems as if at least some of Howard's royal heritage is Germanic (like nearly all royal houses of Europe).
> 
> marrying a commoner: Camden has similar laws in this regard as France and Russia had in ours. In Britain, royal marriages to commoners has always been possible, although the monarch's permission has been required since the Hanoverians, just as Howard needs his father's permission.
> 
> the Southlands: the literal translation of Surrey. 
> 
> fifteen noble families: I counted up the noble houses in Britain today which originated in southern or central England, then threw a few off to fit in with a lower population, and got fifteen. 
> 
> Earl of Shoreditch: a fictional earldom. In our world, Shoreditch was owned by the Manners family, the Earls and Dukes of Rutland.
> 
> Duc de Montmorency: a real French dukedom, extinct since 1951.
> 
> fifth cousins: virtually meaningless. My partner is fifth cousin to a famous person – they're complete strangers to one another. Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt were famous fifth cousins who married. Genetically, it would be like marrying any random person from the same background; you wouldn't share any more genes than average for someone marrying a person of their own ethnic heritage.
> 
> Encantador: Spanish for “charming”, to underline Howard's role as Prince Charming, and to fit in with Howard Moon's purported Spanish ancestry. It made little sense in the radio show, and doesn't make much here, either!
> 
> Howard the Exile: based on the semi-legendary Anglo-Saxon hero Hereward the Exile, perhaps better known as Hereward the Wake. He led a resistance to the Norman rulers around the Lincolnshire area after the Conquest. Possibly in this world, Howard the Exile was successful, and the Normans were forced into the north of England, as our Howard's mother appeared to be descended from them. I have no idea how the Spanish involvement fits in, but the English royal family intermarried with the royal houses of Spain and Portugal from early on.
> 
> Aunt Charlotte: Pedro's mother doesn't seem to be Spanish by birth. She may be French, German, or Scandinavian, almost anything. 
> 
> grown woman: in the story, people seem to reach full adulthood by 17, at least. I don't know what the age of majority is, but it doesn't really trigger any warnings, as nobody does anything sexual with an adult until they're 18 or very close to it. (Except Pippin, but that was ancient history, and if they'd waited until he was 18, they would have both have been dead).
> 
> Temple of the Evenstar: the equivalent of Westminster Abbey. The Greek name Hesperus, given to Venus as the evening star, comes for the word for “western”.
> 
> Cantabrian Sea: the name for the Spanish side of the Bay of Biscay. Yeah, I didn't know this either.
> 
> Leon: historically, a medieval kingdom in northern Spain, on the Iberian peninsula. Alfonso and Sancho were traditional royal names, but there were never two kings of Leon ruling at once. In my mind, they were twins, given equal regnal rights (which doesn't actually happen with twins).
> 
> polar star: Polaris, Ursa Minor, or the North Star. It is used in navigation, and also known as the “guiding star”, to show that Vince gives Howard direction. In poetry, it's a symbol of constancy. 
> 
> Howard's palace: based on the Palace of Westminster, now the Houses of Parliament. The original burned down, and that's what I based the description on, not the present-day buildings. When it was first built, the palace was on the furthest edge of the city, and almost in the country.
> 
> Otto, Sebastian and Lucy: you'll remember Dorothea's father was Otto, and in case you couldn't figure this out, Sebastian was the name of Peter and Ferdinand's father, so the two princes are named after their grandfathers. I think Lucy is just a name that they liked.
> 
> The Fair Maid of Camden: based on the medieval Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, who married Edward the Black Prince and became the mother of Richard III. My head canon is that Lady Clarissa was married off to one of the royal family of Everwick (the relatives of King Peter's first wife, Ellen) to cement their alliance, and became queen of the northern kingdom. 
> 
> public park: in the same way, the private royal parks that surrounded the Palace of Westminster and Westminster Abbey have been subsumed into public green spaces such as St James Park and Hyde Park. The original woods that Howard and Vince met in would be the equivalent of the East End (once countryside outside the city walls), and completely lost to urbanisation.
> 
> moral: Charles Perrault, the author of “Cinderella”, likewise struggled with putting a moral to the story, as Cinderella was a sweet and resilient girl, but only got her happy ending due to some quite extraordinary magical luck (and that's not even mentioning the luck of being beautiful enough to attract a prince).


End file.
